Blue and Silver
by ChaosKirin
Summary: The second war is in full swing, and Harry Potter is slowly working his way to defeating the Dark Lord. How do the people who are left behind deal with it all? COMPLETE - 2 MAY 2005
1. If This is a Dream

_This story is a collaborative effort between E. Elizabeth (SilvyrWing) and M. Li. We worked on this story over the course of a month in January 2005, and with several edits, we now feel comfortable posting it. Though Harry Potter's endeavor to reach Lord Voldemort is a critical issue in the story, we've chosen to focus on those that got left behind, and the underlying motives of Voldemort and his followers as discovered through the course of this text. We hope you enjoy._

_Thanks,_

_E. and M._

Chapter One

It was a bit morbid, yes, but she had to know what happened or what would happen, or... Well, a number of other things. Still, the realization that it was just a dream was enough to grab all her senses and pull Daphne back to wakefulness. She wasn't out in the courtyard - not tonight, anyway. She'd been exhausted. One of the others directed her to the castle to get a _good _rest, and while there really weren't any designated dormitories anymore, she'd ended up in the Slytherin common room.

It used to be so beautiful, but the tapestries were gone now. Most of them were being used as blankets for the refugees out on the Hogwarts grounds. Despite _His _power, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named still couldn't penetrate the defenses of the wizarding school, which had now become a fortress. It was still safe here. Then again, they seemed to be surrounded; every time someone left the grounds to try to strike out on their own, they vanished. It was assumed that they either joined the other side or they were eliminated for refusing. It seemed like no one knew what to do.

Daphne swung her feet over the couch, coughing at the cloud of dust that accompanied the movement, and shivering when her skin touched the bare floor. The area rugs, too, were gone. She could almost see them again, the silver threads catching the light from the fire...

The fire was out now, too.

Her mind returned to the dream. Despite the fact that it couldn't have happened, it had been quite real. Michael, killed by Death Eaters. Had it been a vision? She pushed herself to her feet, knees still aching from running around the day before. It hadn't seemed important at first, but veterinarians were becoming more and more important as the school's thestrals, hippogriffs, and other large creatures were used as beasts of burden. She could see the thestrals _now_ of course, which is why she'd been able to picture them so clearly in the dream. Then again, there weren't many people anymore that _couldn't _see them.

That didn't really matter, though. What did matter was that she had to find Michael.

As she slipped into her clothing, she tried to think rationally. She had _never _had a vision before. It seemed unlikely that she was having one now. She was probably just shell shocked from the news of the most recent attack on Hogsmeade. She repeated this to herself over and over as she buttoned up her robes and climbed out the portrait hole.

Still, as much as she told herself that it was nothing but a dream, and that Michael (or "Mikey" as she preferred to call him) was alive and well in his own section of the castle, it was the sort of dream that continues to terrify even after one is awake until the person afflicted is found alive and well in the waking world. Somehow she felt stupid running around like this, as though she were five years old and running off to her parents in the middle of the night.

Not surprisingly, she wasn't the only one out in the hall tonight, and even though she did let a soft gasp of alarm, she wasn't wholly surprised by the arms that grabbed her from behind. Obviously, Death Eaters don't waste time embracing their victims, and only one person would _dare _even try to touch her like this. For a moment, she allowed herself a glimpse of relief, but his arms weren't quite enough. She wanted to see his face, just to make sure. No harm in that, after all.

She pulled away and turned to Mikey. "I thought you might be helping out with patrol," she said, trying to sound as casual as she could despite the fact that her pulse was still erratic with the remnants of the dream that kept popping up behind her eyes every other heartbeat.

For a moment, Michael looked confused that she'd pull away, but then he offered her a crooked smile. Reassuring, in a way... To see him standing there, alive and smiling. "...Of course I am. We're all Prefects now, I guess. I don't even envy Anthony anymore... I think I'd rather be asleep." He backed away a few steps, leaning against the wall and playing with the loose dust settled on the stone. It flaked off, crumbling to the floor where it added to the already growing piles there. No one really thought of cleaning up anymore.

Daphne couldn't really decipher his mood. He wasn't looking at her, but he wasn't really looking away, either. Again, she pictured the halls, full of pictures and tapestries and sometimes the ghosts... But now, the only familiar thing that remained was the torchlight. It seemed so bare.

Maybe she'd finally cracked. Maybe she was still dreaming. It didn't seem possible for Hogwarts to be in such disrepair, and... After her dream, it didn't seem possible for Michael to be standing here. So she stared.

Again, he looked confused as he looked around. As if she'd be looking at anyone else, Daphne thought to herself as she smiled. He asked, "What?"

A couple steps later, she had his hand. "Nothing," she said. "I just had a dream."

The look he gave her was dubious at best, but he didn't hold it for long, instead returning his attention to his further destruction of the castle walls. It was times like this when he drove her insane. The less he said, well, it was obvious he was feeling put out about something, but since he wasn't really offering, she couldn't for the life of her figure it out and even with the relief of seeing him alive and well and not dying on the Great Hall floor... Well, it was annoying.

She must have looked it, too, because he finally stepped away from the wall and dusted his hands off, offering her another lop-sided grin and brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Somehow she thought there might have been something a little stiff about the gesture.

"Well, I suppose you have them every night. What's special about this one?" he asked, and she flinched slightly as once again, his silent, struggling face again swimming in her vision. IT WAS NOT A VISION! She took a deep breath.

"Nothing. It was just weird. So..." she paused, trying to decide whether to ask him what was bothering him or not, but just at that moment, footsteps echoed at the other end of the hall and male voices could be heard.

The voices were faint at first, but they eventually resolved themselves into something more recognizable. There were two that she could tell, but three sets of footsteps. It was weird how she was starting to pick up on that now... The number of people walking, and how her mind was weighing the odds should she and Michael have to fight. However, that wouldn't be necessary, as the two voices belonged to Terry Boot and Seamus Finnigan. And while Daphne wasn't Finnigan's biggest fan, he was an ally.

The three sets of footsteps rounded a corner, and Daphne saw that the third belonged to Terry's younger sister, Merry. Meredith, really, though no one ever called her that. Sadly, she knew just about as many defensive curses and hexes as Daphne did, even if she was only technically a first year. Not that it mattered now, since there probably wouldn't be any more classes at Hogwarts in the coming years. She was still wearing her House colors, though. Red and Gold. She was a Gryffindor... No one really minded anymore, though. There were barely any lines drawn between the houses now that the war was in full swing.

Daphne offered the a wave, as did Michael. As much as she wanted to try to figure out what was on Michael's mind, Daphne knew it would have to wait - again. Everything personal had to be set aside for the sake of the war.

Finnigan offered a curt nod to Daphne, and barely acknowledged Michael. Terry was the one that spoke to them first. "There's a meeting out in the courtyard," he said. "They're thinking of sending the recent graduates out on perimeter patrols now. You two should get out there."

"We've been lookin' all o'er the castle," Seamus grumbled. Even Daphne had to admit he looked a lot more defeated than he should have. "Lookin' for people too scared t'be out there themselves. Sure an' we found you, Greengrass. Corner." Terry elbowed him, and Daphne automatically put out a hand to stay Michael, just in case. Not that she thought they'd fight now.

"Fine, we'll be off then," Michael replied curtly, looking to Terry rather than Seamus. Daphne sighed. At least they had learned not to be at one another's throats. One would think that Michael would be able to give up personal animosities given the fact they were in a _war, _but such had never been the case. She tugged at his sleeve, and the two departed from Terry, Seamus, and Merry, making their way down the broken stairs and out through the doors into the black and navy lines and lumps of the grounds.

She considered asking him again then what he was worrying over. He was never polite to Finnigan, but he usually was less snappish than that, meaning that something really was bothering him. However, as they walked half-blind across the courtyard and headed for the area surrounding the Pitch... or what was the Pitch. It was just a muddy field now.

They didn't light their wands. It was better to allow their eyes to adjust to the light--if there was anyone around, it would give them the one-up on their opponent. Daphne wished, not for the first time, that she wasn't forced to constantly think in this paranoid manner. She was already jumpy enough having to go out and run around in the dark where Death Eaters were probably lying in wait--she'd always been terribly afraid of encountering He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers--but at least she had Michael with her. Though a sullen Michael Corner was hardly on top of his game.

They picked their way through the mud, the only sound the popping suck of their shoes as they dragged them up out of the muck. They could probably get away with talking--it seemed on a starry, warm summer night like this, that Death Eaters were not going to attack--but Daphne realised that was wishful thinking, and she well knew speaking was a liability.

They passed where the Ravenclaw stands used to be, and she saw him pause midstep for just an instance and glance up, but it was so fast that for a moment she wasn't sure she'd seen it at all. The fields ahead of them were flat--heading out towards mountains and forest. They knew better than to get too far from here. No one would see the sparks if there was trouble.

They paused about fifty yards away from the pitch.

Looking out there was looking into the unknown. Anything past the Quidditch pitch was off-limits for the refugees and those that were staying out of the war... Usually either the very old or the very young. This marked the first time she'd been asked to patrol, which caused her to wonder whether or not those who had more experience were starting to run out of resources. Sure, she'd done her part on the grounds... Everyone did. But this was different. This was dark.

She didn't take Michael's hand, as much as she wanted to. They both had to have full mobility should there be an attack or trouble or whatever else there could be. She did, however, nudge his arm with her shoulder, perhaps to reassure herself that he was there, or reassure _him_ that _she_ was there...

As they stood there, Daphne looked up at him. Perhaps it was the lack of light, but every time she saw him, he looked older. She couldn't help feeling that they should both be out having fun... After all, they were both old enough now, and would be graduating in another month if one were to place faith in technicalities. Which made her remember...

Standing in one spot for this long was dangerous, so she started moving again. She could feel the border of Hogwarts even if she couldn't see it. A magical barrier that she couldn't quite describe. It was comforting to know it was there even if it wouldn't help. Breaking the silence, she whispered to Michael, "What day is today?"

He looked down at her, seemingly a bit surprised that she'd speak. After a moment, he answered, "The fourteenth. May. I think... As long as it's after midnight."

Daphne nodded, continuing on in silence for a while. "My birthday."

He looked surprised and guilty, just like she knew he would. Perhaps it was the Slytherin blood flowing through her veins, but she couldn't help but take some amusement at his somewhat predictable reaction. Michael was not someone she could easily predict, and so any time when she did get it right, she felt she ought to congratulate herself.

"I forgot," he said after a moment, and for just the briefest few seconds, she slipped her hand in his and squeezed. Just to let him know it was all right, to put him back in a better mood, because if they were attacked while he was overthinking something...

He lowered his voice as they continued to trudge across the grounds, and she could just make out the outline of the castle well enough to know that they were about a quarter of the way around it. "So... what do you want for your birthday?" he whispered.

'I want to never see another thestral,' she started to think, but drew up fast. Thinking morbid thoughts while they were wandering around in the dark was a bad idea. It seemed like it would only bring bad luck, and she could do with less of that.

"Mikey," she said lowly, to where he had to move closer to even be able to hear her. "Remember back when we went to the beach by your parents' house the first time?"

He peered down at her uncertainly, and she knew that she was still as much a mystery to him as he was to her. "Go on," he whispered.

Daphne didn't answer right away, though. She looked toward the forest in the distance, thinking perhaps she'd heard something there. Birds, most likely, but one could never be sure nowadays. Maybe it was stupid what she wanted, but recently, she'd been a bit nostalgic. No one knew then what things would be like _now, _and memories were all people had to hang on to. At this point, no one knew which side would win, and what would happen if--

Again, she had to force her mind away from the dark thoughts and remember instead that day on the beach. She wasn't quite miserable then, but after her first real encounter with Muggles, she was glad for the quiet calm of the surf. Well, it hadn't really been quiet, but compared to the pub to which Michael had taken her...

It had been raining that day, and she still didn't get how much she really did like him. At the time, love was a foreign concept to her. Sure, she knew how to hate, but that was easier. Besides, Michael had a girlfriend at the time... If only she could capture some of that innocence again.

People grew up. She'd live.

Maybe.

She nudged his shoulder again, still looking outward toward the trees. Outward... If only she'd read Aesop's Fables when she was little, she'd know the moral that danger always came from the direction one least expected. Then again, she'd always been a bit oblivious.

It was still quiet, though, at least for now. She had no idea they were being watched. "I just always... Well, I never had the chance, you see. Everything happened so fast."

Michael smiled a little. "You can just tell me," he said.

"An umbrella. I just always thought they were rather useful."

He didn't laugh, so she couldn't help but give him credit for that much, but he was grinning in a way she didn't wholly appreciate. Still, people grinning in general was such a rarity these days that her annoyance quickly smoothed over, and she, too, was chuckling softly not after long.

"An umbrella? Well, that seems easy enough. Sorry it's going to be a bit late, though," he added, drawing up momentarily. He was rolling his wand between his fingers, which she thought was a little excessively relaxed. She nodded, though, pausing for a moment herself just because it was her birthday, and she figured she had earned this much.

"That's all right. Perhaps I'll forgi--"

It was at that point that the red lights appeared. Things got too fast for her to really take anything in at that point, except there were definitely Death Eaters standing not terribly far off from them, and she didn't know where they had come from, but she did manage to dodge all the lights that i weren't /i red, though how she'd managed that, she wasn't sure.

She hadn't felt a stunning spell in a long time, and the minute it hit her, she recalled that it was one of the more unpleasant sensations--well, at least for the moment she was conscious to feel it...


	2. Last Stronghold Destroyed

**Chapter Two**

The most awful feeling... In the back of his head... Like someone had hit him really hard with a rock.

...Oh.

He came to slowly, finding that he'd fallen backwards and was now staring up at the night sky. Propping himself up on his elbows, he turned his head and stared a bit stupidly at the rock on which his head had landed. It was coming back to him, trickling into his memory just a little bit at a time until he finally processed it all and realized that they'd actually been attacked.

Michael started a brief frantic search for Daphne, only to find that she'd fallen right next to him. She was stirring, and didn't seem much worse for wear except for the fact that she'd fallen rather uncomfortably on her stomach. He couldn't help it; after the dream _he'd_ had, he had to reach out a hand and gently nudge her shoulder. The girl's nose scrunched up a bit, and she grunted.

A second later, she was awake. Fully awake. In fact, she was struggling to get to her feet until Michael again put out a hand to stop her. The panic in her eyes faded as she regained her bearings.

"We're still on the grounds," Michael said quietly. He couldn't understand why, though, or even why they were still alive. If they were, indeed, attacked by Death Eaters, it stood to reason that they wouldn't be waking up.

Daphne nodded, settling back down onto the cool grass and massaging her head. "...Should get back."

Michael couldn't help but notice that they both seemed to be taking this rather well. Calmly, too. Neither of them were celebrating their luck at being alive, nor were either of them panicking. What had happened? Why was it like this now? Didn't anyone _feel_ anymore? He bit back the comment, "If there's anything to get back _to._" and merely nodded, adding, "Did you happen to see what attacked us?"

Daphne looked thoughtful for a moment, then responded, "Only one."

"Just one?" he asked, but Daphne just shook her head. Whoever it was, she didn't seem to feel now was the time to discuss it. He bit back an exasperated sigh and stood up, offering her his hand. "Let's get back, then," he said, starting to jog towards the castle. He glanced over his shoulder just to make sure she i was /i close behind. He didn't want to think about how worried he really was upon waking up. His heart was still pounding painfully, but he forced himself to not think about anything except what lay ahead of them. It was easier that way, and he needed to be on top of his game for what he expected lay before them.

As they crossed over the top of the hill leading from the Pitch to the courtyard, he noticed that dawn was starting to creep across the sky. The world around them was eerily silent, and he was tempted to tell Daphne to hide and wait for him, only he knew by now that two wands were better than one. Potter had foolishly tried such heroics earlier on, and his charges had ended up in St. Mungo's... They were still there. Michael readied his own wand, waiting for Daphne to catch her breath before cautiously approaching the doors of the Great Hall.

A part of him really wished he could hold her hand. He didn't want to open the door and see bodies and carnage and rubble. He could smell the faint, acrid scent of smoke, which meant something had blown up during their state of unconsciousness. It was just a matter of body count now. He didn't want to tell himself that everyone would be fine. He'd tried to do that before, but it turned out that every time he did, it was another dousing with cold water, because someone always was grievously injured or dead when Death Eaters appeared.

Taking a deep breath, he started to push open the door only to have it swing wide open, nearly knocking him over. He jumped back, wand out and ready for whoever was coming out...

_"Expelliarmus!" _Someone shouted, just before Michael could rattle off his curse. This was it. He was going to die. At least, he thought as his wand flew out of his hand, he'd been ready.

It took him a moment to realize that the voice belonged to Daphne. He turned to look at her, then at the black-robed man standing in the door. Both of them were staring at him with their arms crossed. Severus Snape, however, looked very much as if he'd like to dock points from Michael's now-disbanded House.

"Hm." Snape said simply, scowling at the boy as he practically glided away. Michael wondered where the once-professor was going, though it wasn't wise to ask _him_ questions. More often than not nowadays, one was met with silence from Severus Snape. He was still cold, though, like everyone else, he lacked a certain something that made him _himself._

Snape stopped a few feet away, though, turning back toward them. His face was unreadable. There was no worry or unkindness or despair or anything else there but a faint scowl that meant nothing. "I wouldn't go in there," he said before resuming his retreat.

Michael looked at Daphne. She seemed to be thinking the same thing _he_ was. They had to know. Michael crouched down to retrieve his wand, and he had it pointed toward the door as Daphne slowly opened it again.

...But there wasn't any need to fight. Not anymore, anyway.

Had Michael been thinking about anything more than the fact that Terry and Anthony had been in the castle, he might have taken the chance to ponder Snape's exit. As it was, he didn't put his wand away. He wasn't holding any hope, but he didn't want to get himself killed either. However, this time, he did reach out for her hand. He didn't really care if she thought less of him for it, but his best friends had been in there, and... He didn't think he could walk in there bravely on his own. Daphne hesitated. She was probably worried about the ever present need for alertness, but in the end whether she understood or not she took it. She didn't say anything, though he thought she looked like she might be close to becoming ill. He couldn't say he didn't feel the same. Maybe he was projecting.

They made their way through the smoky halls towards the Great Hall--it seemed the majority of the smoke was issuing from that direction. The doors had been blown off and were lying in pieces across the hall and stairwell. They carefully picked their way over the debris, and finally Michael was forced to relinquish her hand to cover his face with his sleeve--the soot in the air was too thick.

He was starting to panic, but he didn't want to say it aloud. The sight of billowing smoke and the smell of ash sent him into memories he didn't want to think about, not after that dream... But Daphne seemed relatively calm, moving forward when he paused in front of the open doorway, her wand out and already illuminated, and her hand over her mouth and nose.

From what Snape had inferred, there was no need for wands now, but just as Michael might have let down his defenses, feeling the weight of utter failure beginning to fall upon his shoulders, a shot of red light burst past him and burned into the wall behind him. He heard Daphne scream, and he didn't waste another minute, sprinting into the thick gray cloud and abruptly tripping over a table, going down, and losing his wand. He cursed, scrambling around, coughing and blindly searching for his wand.

"_Stupefy_!" a heavily accented male voice shouted. He heard wood splinter, and Daphne gasp, but it didn't sound like she'd been hit... Their footsteps weren't far away from him, and it was definitely two sets.

"Finnigan?" he queried, hoping his voice hadn't been consumed by the sounds of struggle and the muffling ashes around them.

"Aye, it is," Seamus said quietly. There wasn't any fight in his voice now. It was actually rather... Well, if Michael could pick a term for it, _dead._ Tired, too. He looked up to see the Irish Gryffindor staring down at him, now and then throwing glances to either side. Daphne was turned the other way, looking out behind him. No one was letting their guard down anymore it seemed.

Michael stood up, brushing himself off a bit and squinting through the smoke. His eyes burned. His nose burned. Finnigan's eyes were following his every move, and even though it seemed that the other boy had just... Well, done _something_ decent, Michael couldn't help but feel distrustful. Old rivalries died hard, even now.

Finnigan didn't wait to be asked what happened. He just spoke, as if the very idea of _telling someone_ was a comfort. And Michael listened, although not out of concern for Seamus' need to feel some sort of comfort, but out of the fact that he had to know what happened so that he could help, if at all possible.

"Death Eaters. A bunch of 'em. Tore through the camp out on the grounds. Don't know how many are dead. Seemed like most they did was stun until they got to the castle, but..." He looked around. "You can see what they did here."

Michael noticed Daphne wandering away. His instinct, of course, was to go to her, but she seemed intent... As she disappeared into the smoke, he continued listening to Finnigan as he filled in the holes in his story.

"I was just staying behind to take care of the stragglers. I think that was the last of 'em, though I..."

He stopped as Daphne tapped him on the shoulder, and turned around. She seemed to regard him carefully for a moment, then quite unexpectedly smashed him over the head with a brick she'd been carrying. He slumped to the floor, unconscious.

"He stunned _Terry,_" she explained. "And I'd like to think I trust Terry more than this one. Imperius Curse. You could see it in his eyes."

Rather at a loss for words, Michael looked between his girlfriend and the lump of Finnigan on the floor. "...You could have stunned him..." Michael muttered.

"I know," Daphne said, looking over her shoulder at Terry, who'd been revived and was now approaching. "But how many other chances will I have to knock Finnigan over the head?"

Terry rubbed the back of his neck. When he spoke, his voice was still slightly slurred. "Of course, now we'll actually have to wait for him to wake up for him to tell us what happened."

Michael nodded. Somehow, he wasn't quite sure that simply knocking Finnigan out was going to remove the curse, but perhaps it was just the general paranoia sinking in. "Maybe we should tie him up," he suggested after a moment. Terry glared at him at first, but then nodded.

"Yeah, probably best," the stoic Ravenclaw said softly, seeing to it. Apparently Michael wasn't the only paranoid one.

"This place is a mess... I can't tell one body from the next," Daphne sighed, the momentary amusement at getting to knock Seamus out subsiding.

"Nothing to do until the dust clears," Michael muttered. Of course, they could go off and search out the rest of the castle, but at the moment, he really would rather let those who had gotten away to hide come to them rather than the other way around.

"We could break out the windows. Might make things air out faster," Daphne suggested. Terry and Michael exchanged glances, wondering why they hadn't thought of that. The three set to task, smashing all the once beautiful, coloured windows. It didn't really make that big of a difference, seeing as most of the castle was already in ruins, so one more thing really couldn't help. Of course, as soon as the smoke had somewhere to go, the room began to clear.

Michael walked back over to where Seamus was tied and crouched down. The Irish boy was going to be feeling that one when he woke up, but it had probably saved his life, so Michael couldn't complain. Terry and Daphne joined him after a moment, both crouching, because there was still soot in the air, and it seemed even pure-blood wizards knew that the best air was lower to the ground in such a case.

Seamus coughed, and then just as suddenly, he was back to life and furious--attempting to free himself from his bounds by force, which of course only caused him to breathe in more of the cloudy air, causing him to nearly choke on smoke.

"Seamus, calm down," Terry said, touching the other boy's shoulder.

"They took Ron," he wheezed, pale eyes looking a little misty, probably from nearly suffocating a moment ago. "I reckon they might have taken off with Hermione, too, but I couldn't see because of the explosion," he was talking rapid fire, half-sobbing, his accent sounding thicker than usual. It was hard to understand him, but Michael caught the Ron big at least. He and Daphne stepped back, letting Terry try to soothe the hysterical Irish boy.

"What would they want with Weasley?" Michael wondered aloud.

"...Felt this calm out of no where." Seamus continued, oblivious to Michael's musing. "I know we're supposed to know what to do to resist it, but I wasn't ready..."

"No one's blaming you, Seamus," Terry said quietly. Michael, personally, would have been furious at the person that stunned him, under a curse or not. His best friend, however, had never been inclined to rage. Terry looked up at Michael for a moment, waiting until Finnigan wore himself out talking, and then he repeated Michael's concern.

"What would they want with Ron?"

"Don't know." Seamus took a couple deep breaths, then demanded, "Let me go."

Daphne kneeled down next to him in the rubble, but instead of going for the ropes, she grabbed the Gryffindor's chin. Seamus was too surprised to protest, and so he sat there while she looked into his eyes. She nodded to Terry after a moment, and he started undoing the knots in the ropes. Daphne let go of the boy's face and stood again next to Michael. Briefly, he wondered when she'd become so harsh, but realized after a second that she'd always been rather grating. It was just that now, she was being less subtle about it.

"Sure do know a lot about curses," Seamus mumbled. He didn't seem to want to provoke a fight, but he'd let that little bit slip. Michael, at least, knew what he was implying, and he was certain Daphne must have, too. Finnigan used to openly insult Daphne by calling her a Death Eater back when they actually attended the school. Those words weighed heavy now, though. They weren't just childhood insults anymore, and they could very well be accusations now. The only good thing about Seamus throwing around senseless verbiage was that it made Michael pretty sure that he'd been reunited with what good senses he had.

Daphne didn't show any expression other than a brief twitch around her eyes. Instead, she wandered off, looking at the bodies that remained draped across the floor. Perhaps she was looking for survivors, though Michael wondered if she might just be looking at them just to see if anyone she knew well had died. It wasn't long before she stopped over someone, and he saw the faintest tremble of her jaw. Without a second thought, he was off, going to see whom it was she had found.

It wasn't Anthony, and he couldn't help but let out the softest sigh of relief at that. His friend was probably still alive... somewhere. He noted that Terry had undone Seamus's bindings, and the two were making their own survey of the room. He turned back to the body, this time taking it in with a more subdued manner. After all, he had been a Slytherin. Michael admittedly didn't know his name, but he was only a few years younger than they, and he'd been on the Quidditch team... Number 17, if Michael recalled rightly. He felt shallow for recalling the Quidditch number, but not the name.

Daphne continued to stand, staring into the boy's glassy eyes. She'd suppressed the trembling in her chin, and now she just looked ... too young to be in a room filled with corpses. Or maybe too old. She looked a little of both in that moment, and he wanted to shake her loose. It made him furious that she was forcing herself to internalise all this. That she could do it in the first place. He wanted her to cry; he wanted to hit something until his knuckles bled, but instead he just quietly ran his hand over the young man's face, shutting his eyes, and tried very hard to not think about the fact he was touching a dead person, because that made the queasiness rise again.

"You okay, Daph?" he asked quietly, reaching out to touch her shoulder, but she shrugged him off and turned away to continue looking through the bodies.

Michael was failing to see the point. The professors had abandoned the school. If Potter's friends had been taken, then most likely he'd also vacated the premises. There was nothing here anymore, and the four of them couldn't do anything about the bodies. There were just too many for four people to bury, but if there were any survivors... They would have to wait. To try to lure the last in and then decide what to do.

He watched his friends and Seamus walk slowly around the room, feeling for signs of life, turning away when there were none, and he really just wanted to turn and run as far away from the Wizarding world as he could.

"Sure an' here's a live one!" Finnigan shouted, breaking through Michael's weary thoughts.

The response was instant. All four of them, within the blink of an eye, were huddled around the survivor Seamus had found. Though she was unconscious, her breathing was quite strong. The girl bore the marks of burning and the resulting partial collapse of the Great Hall all over her and had become barely recognizable. Brown hair was nearly all singed off, and her face was burned down one side and badly lacerated on the other. Her arms, too, which were visible through the holes the fire had burned through her robes, were in bad shape.

But she was alive. Thank Merlin she was alive. Michael never thought he'd be so ecstatic to see the girl. But out of everyone in the Great Hall, this one would have been able to cast a powerful enough shielding charm to protect herself.

Perhaps they'd left her for dead. Their loss.

Daphne kneeled down as Seamus pulled the survivor up out of the rubble. Terry and Michael shoved heavy boards out of the way, and the remnants of a broken table that had actually protected her from being crushed when the ceiling panels fell to the floor. Absently, Michael looked upward, noting that the enchantment on the ceiling was finished. He'd never see it again.

Meanwhile, Daphne was gently shaking the girl's shoulder, actually smiling a bit as she opened dark brown eyes. Seamus held her up as she came to, offering a rather pained moan as she realized the full extent of the damage. Understandably, she was having a moment of great despair; the castle, after all, was in ruins. However, for Seamus, Michael, Daphne, and Terry, this was the ray of hope they needed.

"Hermione," Daphne said. "You're all right. We're going to get you out of here."


	3. Traveling Vulnerable

Chapter Three 

There weren't many survivors after all, but Daphne hadn't expected there would be. She was still amazed that she and Michael had made it out alive. She decided she could thank Professor Snape for that. It had taken most of the day, but they'd gone through all of the bodies, and Anthony Goldstein, Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood, and neither of the youngest Weasley siblings were among them, which meant that probably after Ron had been taken, the first available D.A. members had gone off with Potter...

Which meant that Daphne might have to witness Michael mourning a best mate yet. She decided not to think about that, though. Instead she just reveled in the fact that they did have Hermione Granger with them, and despite the bad burns, she was up, mobile, and thinking fast. Together, the five of them had managed to round up the last of the refugees. She felt bad that there was nothing that they could do for all those who had died, but even now when they had more than just four people, it would take weeks to... Well, she wouldn't think about that.

Maybe one of the professors would return, and they'd take care of it, or the House Elves. As far as Daphne was concerned, though, it wasn't something that she or any of the others should think about anyway. What they should be thinking about was how to get across the mountains between themselves and the next closest town--be it Muggle or Wizarding, though Daphne hoped it would be the latter. Hermione's injuries would scar if a mediwitch didn't look at her. Plus, they might actually find out just why the Headmaster had disappeared at such a crucial hour... and if those foolish students who'd gone off with Potter were still alive.

Michael and Seamus were leading the way up the mountain. Daphne didn't really know where Hogwarts was located--of course no one did. Somewhere in the highlands about summed it up, and the highlands weren't the easiest things to cross on foot with injured people, but at least they were safe from Death Eaters for the time being.

"Mikey, let's take a break," she called, noting some of those around her becoming winded. Seamus and Michael stopped and turned back. Daphne looked over the handful of students assembled, among them Mackenzie Spinks, the Creevey brothers, and Wayne Hopkins.

"I'm feckin' starved," Seamus announced, throwing himself down on the ground nearby.

Of course, there really wasn't any food. Everyone seemed to know this, because for a while, no one responded to Seamus' remark. Most of them were looking down at the ground, just enjoying the fact that after a long walk, they were getting some rest. But all of them must have been hungry... At least they'd thought to bring water, which was gathered up in containers in the bag Daphne was carrying. Setting it down, she pushed it with her foot toward them. "Just remember it has to last us for a while."

She didn't sit down, though. Neither did Hermione, who was picking her way across the rocky terrain to get to the Slytherin. Michael was talking to Terry and Seamus - civilly, by the looks of it, which was a bit surprising... But then, they had to be civil now.

"I really didn't think it could happen," Hermione said.

Daphne chuckled a bit, though it wasn't a happy sound. "One of the last strongholds of wizards in the area. I'm surprised they didn't get to it sooner."

"Do try not to give us so much hope," Hermione responded dryly. Daphne looked at her. At least she seemed a little better; Mackenzie had been studying a little healing magic along with Daphne thanks to their chosen professions, though what little they could do for the few survivors didn't seem like enough. In addition to the ones she could name, there were a few others that she couldn't, but she had the feeling they'd all know each other eventually.

The fact was, they'd all been in an explosion, and so they all reminded her of how she'd looked when the Death Eaters had left a 'message' at the Leaky Cauldron a while back. It was traumatizing to survive an explosion when so many died. It wouldn't have caught up with them yet. They were still in shock. Most of them, anyway. Daphne had the feeling that Hermione was already working things out.

The Gryffindor shifted her position a little, drawing Daphne's attention back to her. "One thing does get me, though. You and Michael are unhurt, aren't you? I mean, you have a couple bumps and bruises, but look at _me._" She gestured to the others. "Look at _them._ You weren't in the explosion."

Daphne nodded, slowly. The thing she couldn't figure out was that why she and Michael had been simply stunned instead of destroyed. It didn't make any sense. "Hey, Michael," she called. "Come here."

Michael extracted himself from Terry and Seamus, looking somewhat bewildered by what she realised must have been a nervous strain in her voice. He drew up next to the two girls, towering over them slightly--he'd grown to be Terry's height when Daphne had first met the stoic Ravenclaw, though now Terry had easily passed the six-foot mark-- and raised an eyebrow curiously. "What is it?"

Before Daphne could reply, Hermione was speaking. "We were just noting that the two of you came out of this unscathed." Her tone was entirely professional, methodical, and Daphne thought that she had met her match as far as repressing things for later went. "Obviously, many were not so lucky, and that was before the Death Eaters entered the castle."

Michael nodded slowly, rubbing his chin. "I've been thinking about that, as well. I didn't see who attacked us," he said quietly, eyeing Daphne knowingly, and she couldn't help but glance away for a moment under the intensity of it. "But they weren't casting the Killing Curse. I got hit first, so I didn't see anything more, but most of those spells were meant to stun, not kill." He turned to Daphne again, his eyes narrowed in a way she'd come to know meant that he had figured something out about her and that it wasn't long before he put everything together.

"I did see someone," Daphne started. It seemed fairly obvious to her who it was--they'd run into him on their way in, after all. Still, as fast as Michael was, he didn't have the handicap of having seen their assailants. "You might say were weren't attacked by the enemy exactly," she added, not wanting to talk about her former Head of House's role in the war aloud... just in case.

Michael eyed her with a frown, but then turned back to Hermione, changing the subject. "Granger, we need food. Everyone's already injured and weak... We have a long way to go to get across these mountains. Somehow we have to find something to eat or some of these people..." he trailed off, deciding not to vocalise that they might not make it because that's how Mikey was. At that moment, Daphne couldn't help but both hate and love him for it.

"So what do you suggest?"

Daphne twirled her hair around a finger as she pondered. It was matted a bit by now, which was peripherally annoying, but there were other things to worry about. She gestured toward Colin and Dennis. "I don't think we're going to be able to catch anything out here," she said, wishing they would have stayed behind long enough to see if they could lure something out of the forest to kill it. After all, there were a lot of trusting animals in there. There was the owlery, too, which might not have been hit. It was amazing that she could even think in these terms now, but she wanted to live. They all did. "Those two are good at Herbology, aren't they? Take them. See if you can find something to eat."

For a moment, it looked like Hermione was going to argue, and Daphne really didn't want to have to tell her that she really just needed to talk to Michael alone for a moment. Perhaps Hermione decided then that a fed crowd was an alert crowd, because she nodded once and turned away.

"We should probably help, too," Michael said after a moment. Daphne looked up at him, then he added, "...Except I don't know a poisonous mushroom from a toadstool."

Daphne probably would have smiled if she could, but that didn't seem like a very proper reaction now. So she just kinda stared at the grey sky until Michael elbowed her and asked, "What's wrong?"

She shrugged. "I don't want the others to know, but I thought you probably should."

Michael nodded, understanding. "You know who attacked us."

"I know who _didn't kill us,_" Daphne retorted, a bit more harshly than she'd meant to. "I still don't know whose side he's on, though. I've been--"

Suddenly, Michael found his arm grabbed by one of the younger survivors who still had a Hufflepuff scarf wrapped around her neck. That didn't particularly indicate which house she was in, though, as the scarf was being used as a makeshift bandage. "Mister Corner. Miss Greengrass. You should come see this."

"Let's go," Daphne said, hurrying after the kid who was already jogging away. Michael fell in just behind her. She hated it when people said, 'You should come see this,' without explaining what 'this' was. This could be anything, and as far as she was concerned, the times were dire enough that she couldn't help but think the worst: dementors, giants, Death Eater strongholds...

She didn't realise that Michael and the girl had gotten ahead of her until she nearly tripped and was thus forced out of her worried reverie. The two had stopped at the summit of the slope she was still climbing. The kid was pointing down at something, and Michael was nodding. By his body language it didn't seem as though what he saw was bad, and she sighed in relief, jogging the last few steps up the incline.

"What is it?" she asked, walking between the two and peering down. The height they were at was one of the greater ones around, so it was possible to see for miles. What she saw was sort of relieving; she could actually _see_ a town, but it was obviously a far trek from here to there. However, at the foot of the mountain they were viewing all this from was a grove of trees and what looked like a waterfall. Clean water, vegetation, and possibly meat. If they could just get everyone down there by nightfall... Everything would be okay. She hoped.

"Go find Hermione," she commanded the girl who nodded and immediately took off in the direction they came from.

"I guess if there's a god, he doesn't hate us after all," Michael mused.

Daphne allowed the barest of smiles as she picked her way back down the incline. A lot was going through her mind, like the fact that the settlement might not be friendly or it might be leveled by the time they got there. Who knew where the Death Eaters were, after all? She couldn't help but be a little pessimistic as she looked around at all the injured. Now that they actually had something to accomplish, the handful of survivors looked like far too many. She wondered when disappointment would set in. When they'd all start fighting. Hopefully not before they made it to the village.

"We should give them all something to do," Michael said, echoing her thoughts. "Keep them from thinking about things too much."

Daphne noticed Hermione returning with the Creevy brothers and the Hufflepuff-scarved runner they'd sent after them. Evidently, they hadn't gotten too far, though it seemed they'd at least located a little food for traveling. Each of them had several large mushrooms gathered in their arms. As the Creevys started passing one out to each person, Hermione approached Daphne and Michael.

"Samantha said you found a town," she stated, holding out a mushroom to each of them. Daphne took it, but eyed it rather suspiciously. "Don't worry," Hermione said. "They're not poisonous. They're a bit bitter, though, due to-- Anyway. Just eat it. It'll help."

Daphne did. It was unpleasantly crunchy, but she was starved. "It's a bit of a walk, but we can get there in good time if we don't stop a whole lot." Idly, she tucked half the mushroom in her pocket for later. Even if it wasn't poisonous, the taste alone might make her ill. "I think we should split into groups. We'd still stay together," she added quickly as Hermione looked about to protest, "But the older students might be able to..."

"Keep the younger ones a bit motivated," Michael finished. Hermione nodded, approving of the idea. And even, to Daphne's relief, took charge of splitting people up.

"Well, I suppose you and Michael should stick together then. Terry and Seamus... Maybe Colin in that group, too..." She wandered off, still talking to herself as she grouped people together.

In all, there were seventeen survivors, which, compared to the number in the Great Hall, was still a depressingly low number. After they were in groups was the first time Daphne had actually bothered to count. Most of those that made it out were members of the DA, and a lot of that number were young. Hermione split them into three groups - Daphne and Michael leading one, Seamus, Terry, and Colin leading another, and Hermione, Wayne, and Mackenzie leading the last. The remaining nine students were split up into groups of threes. It seemed almost odd to have groups, but it seemed to put the younger students into higher spirits. One, a Quidditch player, suggested that they think of team names.

It was Mackenzie that suggested they name themselves after some of the magical creatures that were once found on the Hogwarts grounds. She called her group the Unicorns. Daphne and Michael's group became the Thestrals. Seamus, Terry, and Colin's group became the Hippogriffs.

For some reason, this drew smiles from a few. Perhaps the idea of a little friendly competition was drawing them out of their more solemn thoughts. Though there was no denying the fact that there were many students that died in the Great Hall, people were starting to see that there was still _life._

"We weren't all there," One of them spoke up. "A lot of people could have escaped!"

"I bet Harry's already got You-Know-Who cornered," said another. Daphne noticed it was Colin Creevy.

She looked toward Michael. "Are you about ready?"

Michael nodded, but said nothing more. She wondered what he was worrying about now, but everyone was feeling so light-hearted that she really couldn't bring herself to ask right now--even if she wasn't so optimistic to think that Harry Potter was destroying He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as they spoke.

Finnigan's group had already moved out, and Hermione's was quick to follow, so there was nothing left to do except get their own group going. She knew there was no way they were going to get to that town that day. There weren't that many daylight hours left, but they could get down to that little gulley and make camp. Hopefully, Hermione and Seamus would also figure that much out--though Daphne had her doubts about the latter. At least Terry was with him. Perhaps Terry would have sense enough to figure it out.

So they began the brief ascent and long descent towards that small paradise of conifers and waterfalls beyond.

For some reason, the idea of talking on the move was a bit scary now, especially since it had been because of that that Daphne and Michael had been caught off guard in the first place. Granted, there probably wasn't any way they could have avoided the attack, and maybe, Daphne thought, their voices had clued Snape into the fact that they were there. Maybe it had saved their lives. Some birthday present, though.

In their group were a pair of second years and a fourth-year, none of which Daphne knew very well. They were all a dozen paces ahead, and in the near distance, they could see the group in front of them. Michael must have realized the fact that no one was listening in, because he leaned down a bit and whispered, "You were about to tell me something when that kid found the village."

"She's not a kid," Daphne muttered, hopefully delaying the issue.

Michael shrugged. "You were going to say something. I don't know what the difference is... Whether you told me then or whether you tell me now."

Because, Daphne thought, _then_ things didn't seem like they were going so well. Now, there was hope. She didn't want to spoil it for anyone, even Michael. "I know who attacked us. I don't know whether he had anything to do with what happened to the castle or not. Just seems hard to believe." Michael said nothing, and so she figured now was a good a time as ever to tell him. "It was Professor Snape."

She expected him to be shocked, and he was. He shot her a rather disbelieving look before focusing back on the barely-traveled path ahead of him. "You should have let me curse him."

"He didn't kill us," Daphne offered in response, though after seeing what had happened in the Great Hall, she almost agreed with Michael.

It was easier to travel without talking, Daphne decided. Michael must have had a similar sentiment, because he didn't say much of anything else, either, except to give directions or answer a question. It was amazing how he fielded the inquiries of some of the younger students. Daphne would have told them to shut up and keep going... She was so on-edge. Michael seemed to have an answer for everything, though, even if it was just vague or barely reassuring. He was good at that.

Damn Ravenclaws.

Of course, none of them anticipated the fact that they'd run into a certain trial that, when they looked back on it later, it would seem almost comical. However, at the time, their run-in with the local wildlife was rather frightening...

They'd finally reached the little forest, and even though she hadn't really wanted to rest, the younger students with them were looking tired again. It was probably because they were wounded. At any rate, everyone was sitting scattered around the pool fed by the waterfall. The water was ice cold and black, as Scottish waters tend to be, but it was clean and to the thirsty, there wasn't a second thought about ingesting it.

It was about that point that she realized Michael was much more exhausted that he'd let on. He dropped down by the bank on his back, and he didn't even look around or nod to her or anything before his eyes were closed. She walked over to him and sat down cross-legged and contemplated their situation. The second years were taking off their shoes and rolling up their pant legs to put their feet down into the water. Daphne, who really wished she could be doing what Michael was just then, thought about telling them to not go into the water, but it was peaceful in the glade, and so she figured how could it hurt?

The fourth year soon joined them, squealing girlishly over how cold the water was. She thought for a second that perhaps Michael had shown a glimmer of a smile, but it seemed like he was pretty well out of it. She popped her shoulders, continuing to watch the "kids" as Michael called them play in the water. And that's when the second year boy disappeared. Daphne figured that he'd just hit a drop off point or something, but the shriek of the fourth year girl made her think again. She started to jump up, but just at the time that she was moving forward, so was Michael. She tripped over him and found herself falling face first into the pool. She put her hands out to try and brace herself, but worse than scraping her palms was the sheer frigidness of the water. She could hear Michael shouting her name, but the next thing she knew, she was staring face to face with a very large turtle that was holding what looked like a strip of black cloth in its maw.

She surfaced, gasping, and she could hear Michael actually laughing. She really couldn't understand what was so funny about the situation until she saw the boy spluttering a few yards away and holding the seat of his pants. Black pants. It didn't take much to put two and two together.

It was rather funny, but Daphne was always rather temperamental... And she was facedown in cold water, and there was a large turtle nearby...

At the last realization, she quickly pushed herself to her feet, scrambling out of the water with no shortage of splashing. This only caused Michael to laugh harder as she wiped her slightly bloodied palms on her robe. "That was cold," she complained, trying to at least draw a little sympathy. No luck.

The large turtle stared at her for a moment more before spitting out the black cloth and heading off on its way. Angrily, she grabbed it out of the water where it was floating and marched over to the 'kids,' two of which were now having a good laugh at the expense of the boy with the torn trousers. "I'm sure one of you can manage a repairing spell," she snapped, tossing the strip of cloth down on the ground in front of the fourth year girl before marching back over to Michael. He was seated again, still chuckling, his eyes still focused over on the trio of younger students.

Eventually, he looked up at Daphne. She really was relieved to see the mirth in his eyes, because Merlin knew they needed it. "You're all wet," he said.

"Very observant."

He laughed. "Nice fall. I'd give it a ten."

She wasn't quite sure what that meant. In any case, however, she lifted her robe and wrung it out over Michael's head. He gasped as the cold water hit him.

Daphne sat down next to him, smirking. "Now we're even."

"Careful, or I won't kiss it and make it feel better," he chided, wiping the water from his face and dropping back down on his back again. Apparently their charges had decided that going into the water with a clothing-snatching turtle was a bit much, and so they, too, were stretched out on the grass in various states of awareness.

"We can't all just fall asleep here," Daphne muttered with a sigh. "It's not that long until sundown, and we need a fire at the very least." Michael nodded blandly, and she had a feeling it was going in one ear and out the other.

She sighed, and for the second time in the last 24 hours she decided to go against her better judgment, flopping down on her back and using his stomach for a pillow. He grunted softly as her head met the rather vulnerable area. She felt muscles that remembered playing Quidditch--even if he hadn't had the chance to board a broom in some months--clench and then soften again, and he grumbled.

"'m not a pillow."

"You are now," she replied, yawning. She was just going to rest her eyes for five minutes. That was all. Really.


	4. They Love Messages

Chapter Four 

He awoke feeling...

Rested, which meant they'd been asleep for too long. Michael couldn't say how much time had passed, but it seemed to him like it had been night for a while. When he opened his eyes, he could see that the younger students had fallen asleep around them as well.

"Daph." He shook her shoulder a bit and she grumbled, but stirred. Eventually the grumble turned into a short whimper of pain. Michael glanced over and noticed she was examining her palms. In the dark, he couldn't see the extent of the damage.

A moment later, she sat up, and a moment after that, he heard her say "_Lumos."_ Again, she examined her hands. They'd scabbed over by then, but had cracked a bit when she'd moved them. Still, they didn't look too bad. When she was satisfied, she turned around to Michael, who was just sitting up. "You were s'posed to wake me up in five minutes."

"I was asleep," he answered, looking around and noticing that the other two groups were now sprawled out on the ground around them as well. A couple people were sitting awake not too far away, watching them. Michael couldn't tell who they were in the light of the wand, but it didn't much matter. Eventually, Terry spoke up.

"Since you two are awake now, do you mind taking the next watch? Mackenzie and I have been sitting here for a while. We haven't slept yet."

Daphne rocked forward until she was kneeling, and doused the light. It was probably a bad idea to keep it glowing for too long, anyway, Michael thought. The problem was that his eyes now had to readjust to the dark. "That's fine," he said. "Who hasn't had a turn yet?"

Terry stood up, though Max just sorta flopped back where she was sitting. "We were the first watch," Terry said, looking upward. "Been about three hours since the sun went down, but I'm not entirely sure. Hermione's over there..." He pointed to people as he rattled off names. "Seamus... Colin... Wayne. I don't recommend putting Colin and Wayne together, since... Well, it would be safer if they were paired with someone who better knew what they were doing."

"Right," Daphne said, standing and stretching. "Well, if we each take three hours, then we can just move out after that. I'd rather have Finnigan and Granger on watch together."

Michael nodded. He didn't entirely trust Seamus, but he'd rather have i him /i on watch than Wayne. At least Finnigan was a member of the DA, and knew what he was doing.

"Whatever you want to do," Terry responded. Michael stood and offered him a smile, though the quieter of the two Ravenclaws didn't return it. It was easy to see how exhausted Terry was.

"Get some rest, mate," Michael said, placing his hand on his friend's shoulder before following Daphne a bit away from the group. She sat down on the crest of a small hill, and he did as well, squinting toward the glow he could see in the distance. It was just lighting up the sky enough so that he could tell that was where the town was located.

"We'll make it there tomorrow," he said, leaning against Daphne. Nodding, she leaned back, quite heavily. "You have to stay awake, you know."

She nodded, but Michael didn't think she was listening, so he shook her a little for good measure, and she sat up again. It might be easier for both if he could keep her talking until she was awake enough. His mind returned to the dream he'd had... What was it? Just a night prior, though it seemed longer now. Daphne had mentioned having a dream, too. Something that bothered her. He couldn't outright address it, and so he said casually, "I didn't dream at all just then. Must have been sleeping pretty deep."

"Me neither," she replied, leaning away from him for a moment to stretch. Of course, he had known for quite some time now that Daphne was the mistress of obliviousness, so it didn't really surprise him that she missed his subtle prodding. In some ways, he appreciated the fact that you did have to come straight out and tell her things—it felt honest somehow—but Michael's strengths lay more in subtlety than in straight-edged Gryffindor-esque turns at the bat. It was almost a matter of contingency between them.

He contemplated the moment he realised this might pose a problem. It was just after that attack on the Leaky Cauldron, and he was sitting in the hospital wing with her, and she was fine except for a slight concussion. The healers had said she'd be fit to go to school in time to catch the Hogwarts Express. He'd been worrying for days—because it was days before the mediwitches decided to let non-family members in to see anyone—to the point of being ill. He'd still be dating Cho at the time, and his friendship with Daphne had been a continued source of strife between them. However, she hadn't said a thing when he visited Daphne near daily in St. Mungo's. She'd even asked a few times how the other girl was doing.

And Michael had felt torn like never before, because he had come very close to losing Daphne in the rubble and smoke, and the understanding hit home with more force than ever before that he just couldn't let her go. So he'd sat with her, joking about the gifts various people sent and telling her in a hundred different ways, and she never heard even once.

He still, of course, hadn't mustered up the courage to talk about how he really felt, despite the fact they had been dating for a few months. He'd figured on them having more time… Thinking about that brought him back to the dream, and he rubbed his eyes briskly, though he thought perhaps he'd prefer it if it were his ears that he kneaded free of debris, because that was the worst part of the dream: her lost, frightened voice calling for him and not knowing that he was already there. He took a shaky breath and realised she was staring at him.

"You all right?" she asked, leaning forward to peer in his face, as though he were an injured hippogriff.

He shrugged, pushing himself to his feet and starting to pace. It was May, but it was still cool at night, and right now he felt more than ever the lack of robes and jackets and other accoutrements that would have warded off the dew-laden chill.

"Fine," he replied with a shrug, shoving his hands into his pockets and pausing to stare into the trees. He heard her sigh behind him. "It's really nothing."

"I didn't dream either just then," she replied, sounding somehow much more wavering than usual. He turned just slightly to glance at her face in the moonlight. Did she catch his meaning after all?

"Oh?" he asked, returning to sit beside her once more.

"Yeah. I... probably still would have been asleep last night if it hadn't awakened me."

Michael waited for her to go on, but she didn't at first. He'd been in the castle, too - asleep in the Ravenclaw common room. It had only been for a while, really, and he'd only gone there to look around a bit. After all, he was allowed to be nostalgic once in a while, too. He'd fallen asleep on the floor next to the fireplace, and awakened hours later.

"It wasn't a pleasant dream," Daphne continued, remaining seated and staring toward the moonlight reflecting off the pond. Her voice was almost drowned out in the distant sound of the waterfall, and Michael had to lean in closer to hear her. "Woke me up after a while, and that's when I..." She smiled up at him, though Michael didn't find it a very pleasant expression. "...Ran into you."

He sat down again, still cold... His clothes were still a bit damp from earlier. "I had a dream, too." She looked interested at this, and again, Michael had to marvel a bit at her obliviousness. Why would he have brought it up at all if he hadn't had a reason to? Then again, she'd mentioned it earlier. He could have been curious or something. He knew very well that Daphne wasn't dumb... Perhaps it was all a show. Maybe she really did know all this stuff she was pretending not to. "Yeah, it wasn't very pleasant, either."

Daphne shrugged a bit. "Well, you brought it up, so... Why don't you tell me about yours, and I'll tell you about mine."

Damn Slytherins, Michael thought to himself, but he had to smile. Quite manipulative, when they wanted to be. He was trapped now.

"Well, if you're sure," he started, leaning back on his palms. It was uncomfortable nearly immediately with his bare palms in the cool, wet grass, but he decided to use the discomfort for his focus as he began to tell his dream. He wished she'd lean on him or something, because he found it hard to get the dream started with her just staring up at him expectantly... Not feeling her, well, it was like this might be the dream--even with the stinging dew under his hands--and the dream his reality, and that thought made him close his eyes and take a deep breath, as though in pain.

Because it did hurt to even consider. Finally he dropped his head back and stared at the starry sky. "I dreamt we were in this car--yes, the Muggle sort--and there was an accident." His voice was shaking slightly, but he was still nonetheless surprised by how even with that, he sounded calm. "We ended up in a Muggle hospital, and... I was there with you," a little less calm now, "but you didn't know it... You thought you were alone, I think, and..." He voice cracked slightly, but he took another deep, reconciling breath and continued. "Well, I cast the Silencing Charm on you, and you knew I was there, at least..." he trailed off, hoping she wasn't this oblivious, because he couldn't make his mouth say the words 'you died' aloud, because saying morbid things in wicked times was bad luck.

It wasn't until after he was finished that she leaned on him, her hands folded in front of her. It was a little uncomfortable for Michael, but he let her remain, mostly because the idea of her closeness was reassuring him that she was still there.

"Strange," she said, "how dreams like that stay so clear. Usually I forget them after a while."

He was a bit suspicious about how well she was taking it. Maybe she didn't get it after all... And because of the way she was sitting, he couldn't see her face. Couldn't read her expression. He was about to prompt her for some sort of reaction when she started talking.

"The dream itself... Well, it was after. But I remembered what it was like. I think that makes sense. Like, I was _in the dream,_ but I had all these memories. I remembered being in the Great Hall, and you were there because you were waiting for me... That's what I imagined, anyway. And later, I was so _mad_ because people could cry and I couldn't. Then I saw the thestrals." She chuckled a bit at that point. "That's why I woke up, because I knew I could already see them, and in the dream, I was seeing them for the first time. I didn't know if it was a dream of a vision. That's why I had to find you."

It was eerie. That was all that he could seem to come up with for several long moments. She shifted against him, leaning her cheek to his chest, as though she was very inconspicuously checking to make sure his heard was still beating. He moved a little, too, putting his weight on his right arm so that he could cradle her head with his left.

"So... You dreamt I was while I was dreaming you were..." he said after a moment, surprised that he was a little hoarse. He hoped he wasn't getting sick.

"Seems so," she replied softly, and she sounded maybe a little rough, too. He wanted her to say, 'I'm scared,' because he couldn't. He straightened then, bringing his other hand up to wrap around her back and lay flat down, drawing her down with him. She made a sound of protest, but after a moment, her shoulders relaxed, and she let her head drop back down to his chest. Her hair spilled out, tickling the dip of his throat, looking like a black blanket in the darkness.

Neither said anything for awhile, both just staring off into space and listening to the quiet sounds of squirrels and rabbits and the like moving around the forest, and the turtle paddling around the pond. He wasn't sure how long they'd remained like that before her heard footsteps behind him, and he craned his neck to see Mackenzie approaching.

"Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?" he asked his former Housemate. She smiled wearily and sat down beside them cross-legged.

"I tried, but I couldn't."

He wasn't sure if Daphne had drifted off, or if she was just pretending, but she didn't move or greet Mackenzie, and it seemed unlikely that she would remain in such an intimate position if she was acting (or was) conscious.

"I was in the hall after they took Ron," Mackenzie said out of the blue. "Anthony grabbed my arm, and he shoved me out the door." He looked up at her, and saw she was tracing patterns in the grass and looking a little choked up. "I was so scared, I just did what he told me. He said to go hide, and then he ran off after Harry... Luna and Neville and Ginny were already chasing after him. There were still Death Eaters in the hall. I started to chase after them, but I guess the Apparating barrier was down, because they all just disappeared... And I could hear people screaming, and I couldn't think I was so scared. I just hid. I'm sorry."

So Anthony was alive then. Or, at least he _was..._ who knew about now? It was comforting to hear someone talk about him, though, because it made his other best friend still alive in Michael's mind. He knew better than to appear comforted now, however, since Mackenzie seemed so distressed.

He played with Daphne's hair a bit as she rested, still trying to figure out if she was sleeping or awake. They were supposed to be keeping watch, after all... Not that he'd really fault her for sleeping now. After a while, he looked back up at Max, searching his mind for something to say. He wasn't the best at comforting people, and neither was Daphne, really. In fact, he was almost glad she was sleeping, because Michael knew that she frowned on cowardice. In Max's case, though, she might hold a double standard. The two were friends, after all. "I don't really much believe in fate," he said eventually.

Mackenzie stopped playing with the grass and looked at him. "I don't... I don't follow."

"Well..." Michael very much wanted to sit up but he didn't want to disturb Daphne. "I don't believe in fate. Like... I don't think what we do is pre-determined by something. But I think that things happen for a reason." He paused, looking away at the stars. "I think Anthony said something like that once. He was gonna play by his own rules because he'd only live once. It was so corny, but he was right."

Max smiled a bit. "Yeah, I've heard that before."

Michael reached out and patted her hand. "Hey, cliches are cliches for a reason, right? It just means that they're true." He was quiet for a while, then sighed. "It was pretty bad then, huh?"

She nodded. "It happened pretty fast. I just remember everyone panicking and Harry was just kinda there and I think even some of the Slytherins were..." She looked down at Daphne. "...Well, it was like there weren't any Houses anymore. It would have been nice if it wasn't for the situation."

"Daphne and I were walking around the castle. We were attacked. Stunned." What he didn't say was that they might have been able to send up a warning had they been paying better attention. That may or may not have been true. Michael himself was undecided in his career and Daphne was a veterinarian. Neither of them were exactly Auror material, even if Michael did envy them. "When we got back to the castle, that's what we found."

Max thought for a moment on this. "I wonder why you weren't just--" Her eyes widened as she stopped herself from saying 'killed.' "I didn't mean... I was just..."

Daphne didn't move at all, but she did speak. Clearly. So she hadn't been asleep after all. "He was trying to tell us something. Messages. Death Eaters _love messages."_

Michael frowned down at her. He didn't want to admit that he didn't understand the message this time. She didn't sit up, though, continuing to lay with her eyes shut. His hand paused on the crown of her head again, and he hoped that she was going to add something to that, but she didn't, just sighing in a way that wasn't particularly content.

Mackenzie drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and propping her chin. "You know what's funny? Clare Rivers went with them, too. I don't know why."

"Rivers?" Michael asked, and Daphne sat up at that. He, too, sat up after a moment, feeling a little stiff. "She went with Potter?" _Or the Death Eaters?_ He wisely left the last part out.

Max nodded, chewing her bottom lip. "A lot of people went," and it was obvious that she was saying, 'I should have, too.'

In truth, the reason Michael wasn't Auror material was because he was similar to Mackenzie on that point. He was afraid of losing anyone. He was afraid of dying. And so it stood to reason that he would rather stand back while people like Potter ran around suicidally. Of course, if it was a matter of protecting his friends, it wasn't impossible to force his hand, but still...

Daphne was silent, obviously deep in thought, and he wanted to ask her what she was thinking about, because there were a lot of mysteries between them lately, and he didn't like it at all.

"Mackenzie, if you'd gone with them, we wouldn't have had you here. Probably a lot of the people with us would have been a lot worse off if you hadn't been here to heal them."

Max lifted her chin from her knees and smiled at him gratefully.

"It's nearly dawn," Daphne said, breaking into the moment. "Mikey, why don't you sleep? Max and I can watch until everyone wakes up."

He shrugged, lying back again with his arms crossed behind his head and noting the pale fuchsia streaks crossing the sky. He knew he couldn't sleep, but he thought that perhaps he could try... And maybe he might actually get to hear what was on Daphne's mind if she thought he was asleep. Perhaps there was a little Slytherin in him, too.

A long time passed where Michael saw and heard nothing. Daphne was waiting for him to fall asleep, he decided, and wondered if she was watching him. Eventually, he allowed his breathing to fall into a rhythmic pattern. He wasn't sure if Daphne bought it or not, but she did start talking.

"Do you feel up to talking a bit?" she asked. Michael noted that she was speaking in that tone she used when she was fighting to keep a conversational tone. She knew something. Max must have nodded or something, because Daphne continued. "I'm going to ask you about a few people. If you don't know, just say so. If you do, tell me what you know. What happened to them."

"Alright," Max said."

Daphne went through a whole bunch of students. Some of them, Michael didn't recognize. Others he did, and he had to fight to remain 'asleep' with a couple that Mackenzie reported as dead. They'd all seen the bodies in the Great Hall, but it had been dark...

Among the dead were Stella Fawcett of Ravenclaw, Hannah Abbott and Justin Finch-Fletchley of Hufflepuff, Blaise Zabini of Slytherin, and Parvati Patil of Gryffindor. Michael was vaguely surprised that Daphne knew some of the names... Then again, they were all seventh-years. It made sense. People that have gone with Harry included a surprising number. It gave Michael a bit of hope, especially to hear that Pansy Parkinson had gone along as well. Then, Daphne asked about one person that he'd been pondering over for a while.

"Do you know what happened to Draco Malfoy?"

Michael opened one eye a bit, noting that both girls were turned away from him. Max was playing with her hair a bit, which meant she was nervous. She never had liked being on the spot. Finally, she spoke. "He was there. I saw him in the Great Hall."

"You can be honest, Max. I need you to tell me what he did." This seemed to be the whole point of the conversation. Asking about Malfoy.

Max nodded. "He was taken, after Ron."

Daphne, too calm, asked, "Did he struggle?"

"Yes. He did."

Daphne nodded again, then without turning around asked, "Did you get all that, Mikey?"

Michael opened one eye. He didn't feel like answering. Stella was dead? It made him feel empty. She was always so _alive._ How could it even be remotely possible that she would not be? He closed his eyes again, taking a shuddering breath. He'd seen a lot of people die recently--people in his House, in his year, friends... But somehow it felt like an important inner wall had been smashed to hear that Stella was dead.

At last he spoke, his voice sounded strange even to him. "And what about Cho?"

Daphne stiffened visibly, but right then, he couldn't really worry about it, because he was still numb with shock over Stella, and if Cho was dead... It didn't bear thought.

"She went with Harry," Mackenzie replied. "She left just after Draco Malfoy was taken."

He stood up then, dusting himself off. "I'm just going to take a walk. See if I can't find us something to eat." Normally he would have been curious about what it was Daphne knew, but right now he just wanted to be alone. If Stella could die, then anyone could, and that meant Cho and Anthony... and Daphne. "You two should probably start waking everyone up. I suppose after we've all eaten Granger will have us on the move again." He turned and walked towards the forest, feeling more exhausted than he'd felt since the advent of the Second War.


	5. Friends out of Foes

Chapter Five 

Blaise was dead.

She really tried not to let it get to her, but it did. She'd been friends with Blaise... Pretty good friends, anyway. The fact that he was gone was hard to imagine. The boy had a problem with his temper, but he was unique. He wasn't just someone she imagined ever dying.

Daphne was still rather numb, though, and so she hadn't cried. Of course she would when it all caught up to her, but Michael seemed to have the right idea... Push it aside and save it for later. As they stood outside the town they'd seen from atop the mountain, they regrouped, waiting for the stragglers to catch up before they approached. There were, after all, things to consider.

No one knew what sort lived in this place. It didn't seem to be Muggle, though there were Muggles that didn't use electricity or things that others of their kind considered useful. Daphne guessed that it was probably populated by both wizards and Muggles. The fact that it was so close to Hogwarts suggested that there would at least be some sort of magical presense there.

She had in her mind the vaguest idea about why Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy had been taken, but she couldn't say for absolute certain. It seemed to her like they were weeding people out. Attracting the best... For some reason, she couldn't help believing that Snape himself had cast the Imperius Curse on Finnigan as a clue about what was being planned. There was always the possibility that she was wrong, of course, but she had the awful feeling that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was luring students into his lair to... Well. _Use_ them. It was a strategic move on His part that he take both Ron and Draco, because it drew sympathy from all the Houses instead of just one or two. The question was, what was this group of survivors going to do about it?

As they stood outside the town, Daphne approached Hermione. She hadn't liked the girl at school, but she had to admit, the Gryffindor was resourceful. "Can I talk to you for a moment?" Daphne asked.

Hermione turned around. "What's wrong?"

"The one who stunned us was Professor Snape." She waited for Hermione to look surprised, but she didn't. She nodded, as though something had clicked into place for her. It irked Daphne that the Gryffindor girl was so apparently on top of things.

"Makes sense," Hermione murmured. "I should have thought of that... Actually," she narrowed her eyes, trailing off, but then shook her head. "It's not important."

Obviously Granger knew something about Snape that Daphne didn't, but it looked like she wasn't telling, so Daphne decided to press a little harder. "I believe he put Finnigan under the Imperius Curse." She couldn't help but feel betrayed. After all, Snape was her Head of House. Even if he was vicious to most of the students near constantly, he was a teacher. He was supposed to care a little. He wasn't supposed to be involved in a raid that killed over half the school.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "What did Seamus tell you?"

"Um," Daphne wracked her brains for what the Irish boy had mentioned, but nothing very telling came to mind. "He just said Death Eaters had come through and killed a lot of people. I sort of knocked him out after that."

The Gryffindor girl sighed in exasperation, but didn't chide Daphne. "It may have been a message after all," she replied, though she was looking off to the right as she caught wind of Michael and Seamus bickering rather loudly. Seamus and Terry's group, the final group, had arrived.

"What do you know about Snape?" Daphne demanded.

Hermione turned back to her, scrutinising her for a long moment. "I really can't tell you. All I'll say is that Dumbledore was never wrong about him."

"Granger." Daphne paused. "Hermione. I'm trying to help you here. I can't, if I don't have all the information. Is there something I should know?"

She shook her head. "I'll tell you if it's important. I don't want to jump to false conclusions, and I don't want anyone else to do so, either. I'm sure you understand." She started to turn away, but stopped, looking back over her shoulder. "I know it's not what you want to hear, but I'd ask that you just trust me."

"I can't," Daphne replied, looking rather put-out that her news was coming as no surprise. "if you don't give me a reason to." If she hoped that would draw a sympathetic response from the Gryffindor, she was wrong, as Hermione seemed to take this as a dismissal and returned to her group. It was annoying, but perhaps she'd at least helped a little. Daphne wasn't stupid; she knew Harry Potter had dealings with You-Know-Who in the past, and she knew Hermione was a good friend of his...

It just felt horrible to be out of the so-called loop. Curling up her nose at the Gryffindor, Daphne turned back around, only to find Michael already standing there. This drew a quick moment of panic, as it wasn't exactly wise nowadays to just appear behind someone. Calming herself, though, she asked, "What were you arguing about with Finnigan?"

"What _don't_ we argue about?" Michael asked, looking back over at Seamus. "Honestly, he debates every point anyone brings up. He's not just content with the truth."

Daphne rolled her eyes. He was definitely skirting the issue, which meant that they probably hadn't exactly been arguing over anything important. "So what was it then?" ...Michael definitely looked a bit sheepish before he answered.

"The Falcons beat the Kestrals last week," he said, averting his eyes to look at some point over her head, which wasn't too hard, since he was substantially taller. For a moment she thought he was just trying to get out of admitting that he'd been bickering over something utterly stupid, but then she realised he was gazing at that point beyond her with his eyes narrowed, and his hand was on his wand.

She could see around his shoulder that Hermione, too, was starting over to them hurriedly. So she turned to see what everyone else was staring at.

There were three of them in a sort of triangular formation, though it was rather loose. The two in back were a younger man and woman, and the woman was pointing a wand at them. The man in front was also pointing something at them, but to Daphne, it looked harmless. Michael and Hermione, however, seemed rather on edge about this device, and so Daphne figured she would be, too. Her hand trailed toward her pocket, where her wand was.

The unarmed man in back of the formation was the first to speak. "We didn't tell anyone where you were. There's no reason to come after us."

Daphne offered a confused glance to Michael, and he returned it, but this lasted only a moment. Both of them drew their wands, and Daphne noticed that several of the other students had done the same. It seemed like no one knew how to respond. Finally, Hermione asked, "What are you talking about?"

The unarmed man spoke again. "You heard me. We've never hurt you, we've never come after you. Hell, we've never even left the town, most of us." He shifted his position, re-adjusting a shirt that seemed to be far too large for him. In fact, all three of them were dressed... Well, they weren't dressed badly, but it looked as if whatever tailor they'd paid to make their clothing wasn't exactly the best. "We'd appreciate if you'd turn around and go back to your castle."

That got them. Most people didn't know where Hogwarts was. The man must have noticed the confusion, because he added, "You haven't come to relocate us again?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, just take a look. We're injured. We need help."

The witch in the back of the formation looked to the unarmed man, who put a hand on the shoulder of the man in front. He lowered the strange device, and for some reason, Daphne felt more at ease.

"We'll help you, if we can," the witch said. "But you can't stay long."

Daphne took a couple steps forward, muttering to Hermione, "I have a bit of a bad feeling, don't you?"

"Yes," the Gryffindor said. "I feel just about the same way."

The three turned, the witch gesturing to follow. Hermione frowned, falling deep into thought as she walked close to Daphne. "Hogwarts is unplottable," she muttered, and even though Daphne was sure she was talking to herself, she still nodded. "Why do they know…?" The frizzy haired girl trailed off and said nothing more.

Michael and Seamus had gone to the fore. Daphne had noticed that the Irish boy had also been eyeing that black thing in the other man's hand with as much anxiety as Michael had—more anxiety, in fact, than either had shown for the wands—which meant that whatever it was, it was definitely dangerous. Now it seemed that the two had struck up a momentary truce in order to stand between the others and that thing. Daphne was torn between amusement at this show of chivalry and uncertainty about what that thing was that it caused such a reaction in the two Half-Blood boys.

The trio led the students into a large building in the center of the town, the two men parting ways with them at the door. Their footsteps sounded hollow on the wooden floors, echoing in the near silence, and Daphne had the uncomfortable feeling that their steps were overly loud and the building terribly old. There were a few small wooden desks around, but they really didn't fill up the room at all. At the back of this area was a set of doors and a stairwell leading up to a balcony that Daphne couldn't see past the railing of to make out what was beyond.

"This is our judicial center," the witch explained rather abruptly. She'd put her wand away, but there was still a stilted wariness as she turned to the refugees. "It's the only place large enough to fit all of you. You can transfigure the desks into cots for the worst of you," the woman's eyes fell on a first year in particularly bad shape—Terry was carrying him, in fact—and softened momentarily. "We'll bring you food and water. You can stay for a night, but after that, it would be best if you did not linger. We will also bring you medical supplies. You three," she said, gesturing at Seamus, Hermione, and Daphne, "can come with me and help carry."

"How the feck are we supposed to get out of here with ones as young as that? They can't Apparate so!" Seamus replied, and Daphne twitched. Leave it to Finnigan to be rude to people who were only _begrudgingly_ offering them aid. Still, she, too, wanted to know the answer.

"I'll explain as we walk. Come," the witch said and started back towards the entrance.

Daphne shrugged to Seamus and Hermione and started to follow, giving Michael—who had gone over to Terry to try and make some of the smaller students comfortable by transfiguring desks—a brief wave. He didn't seem to notice. They followed the woman out into the evening air, walking silently for a few minutes before Hermione spoke up.

"How do you know where Hogwarts was?"

"Was?" the woman asked with some incredulity. She looked over her shoulder at Hermione, and the young witch nodded.

"Was. It was attacked a couple nights ago." The woman didn't say anything more about this, and Daphne got the distinct feeling that she didn't care that Hogwarts was gone. Finally, Hermione prompted, "You know where Hogwarts was. How?"

"Whatever attacked you knew where it was, too, didn't they?" the woman answered. Hermione looked at the ground, and again, their guide appeared a bit less standoffish. "I'm sorry that you lost the castle. There are ways to find it, especially since the wards on the castle are designed to deter a certain type."

"And what type is that?" Seamus demanded. Daphne couldn't help but elbow him - hard - in the ribs. However, the woman laughed.

"Think about it for a moment, won't you? The barriers around the castle. They're designed specifically to keep Muggles and wizards that don't know it's there from chancing upon it." She stopped, turning around to face them. Daphne eyed Hermione, who seemed to be putting the equation together to get an answer.

Finally, she said, "You're not human."

She'd gotten it. The witch smiled. Daphne figured it out a moment later when she realized why the town wanted them gone by the next night. Her eyes widened. Seamus looked bewildered.

"We're rather happy here, actually," the witch went on. "No one's ever hurt because we're all the same. I suppose it was one of the Ministry's better ideas, even though they've grouped us with a few unfortunate Muggles." She started walking again, and the three of them followed, Daphne a bit more reluctantly. She did note, however, that Hermione didn't seem to mind so much.

"I'd sure like t'know what you're all on about," Seamus grumbled.

Daphne rolled her eyes, leaning in to whisper, "They're all werewolves."

Before Seamus could reply, as though on cue, Hermione quietly added, "It's not anywhere near a full moon right now, so it's fine." Seamus said nothing, but it was obvious that his level of discomfort had substantially increased, and Daphne couldn't blame him. They were surrounded by a village of people that became ravenous monsters once a month. It was a bit disconcerting to say the least, but beggars cannot be choosers, and so it seemed that they would have to just accept what they'd been given for the time being. It wasn't like they were going to stay long anyways.

"I'd never heard of anything like this," Hermione said in a louder voice, addressing their guide once again. "You asked us if we were relocating you... Does that mean you were forced to be here?"

The woman seemed to nearly stumble, but it was such a slight jolt in her step that it was hard to be sure. "The Ministry has granted us a single portkey that goes directly to St. Mungo's in case of emergency. We will allow you to use it to transport your group there tomorrow. You must leave it here, which means that most likely two of you ought to oversee each trip--two of you who can Apparate."

They were nearing a cottage that appeared to be made of birch. The outside had splotches of white bark on it that seemed to be peeling away. The woman tapped the door with her wand and walked inside. "You," she said, pointing to Seamus. "In the back room there are medical supplies. It's the third door on your right. Bring them all. You two," she said, looking from Hermione to Daphne, "can help me arrange a meal. How many of you are there?"

"Seventeen," Daphne replied, watching Seamus as he sauntered off, looking behind him now and then. Their guide led them to a different room - the kitchen - and began taking things out of cupboards and a small icebox. It looked like a normal house. Nothing was in ruins as she expected the house of a werewolf would be. In fact, she was quite curious about this town now, despite the fact that she was also slightly afraid.

"It'll be a bit of a task, but I'm sure we can get something together," the woman continued. After a pause, she went on. "I'm Emma, by the way. We don't go by any formalities here, so that's all you need to know."

"I'm Hermione. This is Daphne." Hermione indicated each of them in turn. "The other one is Seamus. He's a bit... Temperamental at times," she added as they heard a loud thud and an expletive from the back room.

Daphne chuckled dryly. "He's actually rather tame at the moment."

Emma hesitated, as if wondering what she had that might feed seventeen people. She took a few boxes out of a cupboard. They seemed to come from a Muggle store... But then again, she'd already said that there were Muggles living among them. Perhaps the Ministry had to provide for them? Is this what they sent? Boxed food? "Well, most that end up here aren't exactly in the highest spirits," the woman said. She tapped the boxes. "Pasta. I have plenty, and it should feed your lot. We'll mix it with a bit of meat sauce."

Seamus returned then, carrying one box and nudging another along with his foot. They were both packed rather poorly, though he set them down next to each other just outside the kitchen. Noting his return, Emma went about filling a couple large pots with water. "You got everything?" she asked.

Seamus nodded. "You don't think that--"

"Who're these people, mum?"

The three of them turned around and saw a very small boy clutching a teddy bear standing behind Seamus.

Just when Daphne was thinking it might not be so bad... There were _children_ in this village filled with _werewolves?_ She couldn't seem to keep the shock off her face, though when she glanced at Hermione, the Gryffindor seemed unperturbed, instead bustling around the kitchen as though there was nothing wrong with the fact a small child was in a village of rabid monsters. Seamus seemed to be of the same opinion, though, by the looks of it. He couldn't even manage an expletive of surprise.

"They're no one," Emma replied, also steadfastly working at getting the food prepared. She glanced coolly at Seamus and Daphne before putting the pan she had dug out of the cabinet aside and walking over to crouch before the child. "Go back to your room, Matthew, all right? Daddy's going to come home and read to you in a little while."

Hermione looked through the cabinets, though Daphne later realised it was just an excuse to move next to Daphne and elbow her. Daphne blinked and turned, scowling at the Gryffindor, and then realised she was being a little rude, so instead of focusing on the little family, she, too, began to start putting things together. Only, she realised she didn't know the first thing about cooking.

Seamus was still standing near the child, staring down and mouthing, 'Daddy?'

"Daddy's been gone a long time," the child said with a quiver of his lip. "I want a story now."

Emma looked at the boy for a long time, and Daphne noticed the torn expression on her face. She could either tell her son a story or send him to bed without one. None of the Hogwarts students seemed to want to look right at them, as they'd all come to about the same conclusion. The note in the child's voice suggested that daddy wasn't _ever_ coming home.

Then Seamus surprised everyone by saying, "I'll tell him a story."

The look of gratitude on Emma's face would have lit up the room if such things were possible. "Matthew," she said. "This is Seamus. If he tells you a story, will you go to sleep?"

"I want daddy..." The boy answered, though his desire for a story was already overruling who had to tell it to him. After a moment of looking up at the Gryffindor, the boy held out his hand. "I got some books in my room."

Seamus allowed himself to be led off by the boy while Emma stood up and quietly returned to her work. Neither Daphne nor Hermione spoke, though for Daphne, it wasn't for lack of wanting to. She was more curious than ever now. After a while, it was Emma that broke the silence. "He's not even mine. Poor boy. He and his father went on a camping trip... Muggles, both of them. They just picked the wrong place." She paused, setting the pots to boil with a wave of her wand before she dumped a fair amount of pasta into each. "At least I was a bit older. I had time to enjoy myself a little before I was sent here."

Again, neither of the other two girls said anything. Perhaps if Emma was going to talk, they should just let her speak.

"We were forced to be here," Emma continued, moving over to Hermione's station and put another pot on the stove, which she soon began to fill with sauce. "You," she said, gesturing at Hermione, "Please chop up some bell peppers, and you," she said to Daphne, "can cut up some sausage." The two girls nodded. Though Daphne didn't know a thing about cooking, she could cut things up easily enough.

As the two set to task, the warm sweet smell of tomato sauce paired with the saltier smells of meat and spice starting to fill the small space, Emma continued. "This place... It's not so bad. We're all very close, and we find ways to occupy ourselves, but we can't really leave, either. It's sad for small ones like that, because this place is all they will ever have the chance to know."

"How can they force you to stay here?" Hermione asked, indignation colouring her cheeks. She had paused in her chopping duties.

"It's a complicated matter, but while it's not directly said, it's silently known. I've been here ten years now..." She drifted off for a moment. "Matthew and his father arrived two years ago. His father..." She trailed off, slowly stirring the sauce.

After a moment of Emma's silence, Hermione went on. "It's just that... Werewolves are decent people."

The woman laughed again, though there was no happiness in the sound. "Tell that to the hunters, would you? Tell that to me before I was attacked. Tell that to your friend there." Daphne pretended to have not heard Emma, and continued pretending like she knew what she was doing. It didn't much matter, though, because the other witch was continuing anyway. "You're about the only person that thinks so. Well, I'm not denying we can be a right dangerous lot, but even under the full moon, there's not many that leave the town." She turned around, pausing in her stirring to smile. "That's why we're all here. We protect each other, and we can't hurt other people."

Hermione went back to chopping the peppers. "I don't really see how it's fair."

"It's not. It's not. Everyone tries to make it on their own out of the town once. Matthew will, too, one day. Some are successful. They make lives for themselves. They figure out a way to live without having... accidents, I'll say. Especially now that there's ways to fight the symptoms." She sighed, stirring the sauce again and smiling a bit. "Matthew's _father..._ Was a very kind man. I took them both in when they got here, and they ended up staying. But he had to try... He didn't watch the calendar closely enough. He... Well, he hasn't come back."

Daphne felt as if she should say something comforting, but she was rather bad at that. Both she and Hermione knew of a werewolf... A certain professor at Hogwarts. However, Daphne was rather glad he left after the revelation of his 'condition.' Who really wanted a werewolf as a teacher, anyway? Still, she couldn't help feeling bad, at least for this family. It was Emma that eventually broke the silence.

"The sauce is ready. Can you girls drain the pasta and put it in one pot? We'll need to get out some plates, too. You can probably transfigure them into more. I don't honestly have that many. I don't have guests often," Emma said, smiling a little sardonically. Hermione took a pair of oven mitts and set about carefully draining the excess water into the sink. For her own part, Daphne started getting the few plates that Emma possessed from the cabinets.

At about that point, Seamus quietly returned to the kitchen. "He's asleep," he said softly to the three women, as though it wasn't obvious that he wouldn't be back here if Matthew was still awake.

"Can you two take the medical supplies over?" Emma asked Seamus and Daphne.

"Sure an' I can do it by..."

"That's fine," Daphne said, placing the plates down beside Hermione and going over to lift the second box of supplies. It wasn't very heavy, but Daphne was still glad they weren't going to have to go far.

"We'll be over shortly with the food and utensils," Emma replied as the two walked out the door.


	6. Mikey's Dream

Chapter Six 

Everyone was fed now, and happy. The last thing they'd eaten besides the pasta was those mushrooms up on the mountain, and the hot dinner was more than enjoyable for the whole lot of them. The younger ones, or ones that were in worse shape than others, were sleeping on the cots while the rest of them sprawled lazily on the floor.

Daphne, Seamus, and Hermione had told the other recent graduates about this town's secret, though figured that for the desire to keep panic down, they wouldn't tell the others. Michael was a bit shocked, really, though, like Hermione, he'd taken it rather well. This seemed to surprise Daphne a bit, though to her credit she wasn't very outspoken about it. Seamus, too, seemed unnaturally quiet about the subject. Then again, he was one of Professor Lupin's fans.

Michael sat with Daphne off near the wall while the others started dozing off. There were a few talking to each other, though from where they were, it was a bit too quiet to hear. Daphne was leaning on Michael, and he was trying not to lean back with too much force... But the truth remained that he was dead tired. He was just drifting off when Daphne spoke. "Where do we go from St. Mungo's?"

He'd been trying hard not to be pessimistic, but his inner voice was very much that. When all their charges had asked him if everything would be fine, he couldn't help but think, 'Probably not, but at least you're not dead.' Not that being alive would do them much good if... He figured it was because he was exhausted that he was thinking like that, and he blamed his not-very-sugar-coated response on the same, "Well, we don't really have anywhere to go, do we?" He wasn't trying to be snappish, in fact he was using the last reserves of energy to not be, but his voice sounded sharp through the generally haggardness. "I'm not chasing Death Eaters, Daphne. I suppose Granger and Finnigan may choose to do so, maybe even Terry, but I'm not."

"What about Anthony?" she asked, sounded a little irritated now as well.

"We have to find out if he's even alive first... I think we should go to the Ministry. Try to find out there, and see if they know where Dumbledore is. I don't know about you, but I want some answers." He wanted to know more than anything how their Headmaster could just abandon them to Death Eaters. Not just the older students and graduates, but first and second years... all left to face the wrath of Voldemort's followers. For the first time since that day in Diagon Alley, for a moment he did want to go after Potter and the others, to wrap his hands around one of those bastard's throats and ask them _how_ they could kill eleven year olds as though they were flies. He didn't realise that Daphne was speaking at first.

"I don't want to go, either," she was saying, "But I really think we should do something. It doesn't seem right just to sit around while they're... Listen to me go on. I thought I was supposed to be a Death Eater or something."

Michael shook his head, sitting up a bit. "Daphne, I'm not going. I didn't ask to be in this war. I'm a wizard, and I went to school. That doesn't mean--"

She held up her hand. "I'm not saying we follow after Potter," she said quietly. "But I don't think we can just do _nothing._ I have to tell Hermione what I think I know, because if I'm right, their friends are going to be waiting ready to attack them when they get... Well, wherever _He_ is." She settled back down a little again.

"You think... Potter... And--" Michael felt a little confused. He didn't see how she'd come to that conclusion.

Daphne smiled. He couldn't see it, but he could hear it in her voice. "You have to have that mind for evil, I guess." She snickered a little, though it really wasn't funny. "Think about who made it out alive. Members of the DA. The best students in the school. Do you really think _Death Eaters_ wouldn't have killed them if they could have? I mean, they're good, but they're just students."

"Maybe they were in a hurry," Michael replied. After all, that's what he'd been thinking all along. They blew up the school, took Ron Weasley and apparently Malfoy, and apparated out. Then it hit him... Why would they take those two students? "It's a trap."

"Yeah. I'm not sure exactly what they plan on doing, but it's a trap. They're luring more students there because it's easier." Daphne shifted a little, looking up at Michael. "I don't want to head into that. But there's other things we can do. You're right... We can start by going to the Ministry, but I just can't sit it out. Clare's with Potter, too. If Clare went..."

"You think they're going to use them, then? If that's the case... We'd be in even more danger if we tried to follow. I don't know about you, but I couldn't raise a wand to Anthony no matter what he was about to do to me," Michael replied with a sigh, really wishing she wasn't leaning on him, because he had a crick in his neck, and he wanted to sleep for about twenty years. "I... don't want to do nothing either, but by the same token I don't want to do anything reckless. I guess we'll have to start with the Ministry... Once we have some answers, we'll have a better idea of what we can do. Do you think we should warn Finnigan and Granger and Terry, though? Just in case...? I don't imagine any of them would be any more willing than I to fight their friends."

"I think we should. Better to be prepared," Daphne replied, her voice starting to sound a little slurred with exhaustion.

"We'll figure it out once we're out of here," he promised her, straightening slightly to reposition them. He couldn't sleep like that, after all, and he'd be useless if he was this tired in the morning. So he leaned against the wall while offering her his lap as a pillow, which she gladly took. He smiled softly to himself as he watched her eyes drift shut. A year ago, she would _never_ have accepted such a position, but it seemed that any pillow offered was such a luxury now that she couldn't turn it down. He leaned back against the wall, laying a hand against her cheek and quickly drifted off.

He wasn't prepared for what he would dream.

Hogwarts.

Not destroyed. Bright, vibrant colors. The sun was shining, the Quidditch pitch wasn't dotted with refugee tents and the school's various animals. Of course, Michael in the dream had no idea what was in store for the castle... Or maybe he did, on some level, because he was noticing everything with much more clarity than he had when he was i actually /i a second year.

True, there weren't many second year students that made the Quidditch team, but he had to try. Michael thought he was pretty good... But the team thought otherwise. In any case, he'd put up a good fight, looked damn good trying, and now he was beating himself up over it. And also, it seemed like he was being followed.

It was some Slytherin he didn't recognize, though he didn't really like the lot of them. As far has he was concerned, they were all impossible to tell apart. This one was a girl. Short. Her hair appeared to have been blonde but was starting to grow in darker. She looked at him, curling up her nose.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said. "I was just watching the tryouts. Now I'm heading back to the castle. Is there something wrong with that?"

Michael shook his head and turned back around. He decided he didn't like this girl...

...As he was dragging his feet back to the castle, she walked past him, and he heard her mutter, "You'll get it next year."

...He decided he _did_ like this girl. Even then.

Michael stirred, and the dream ended, but only for a moment. When he dozed again, it picked up, but it was already a couple years later.

The Astronomy Tower was silent and dark. He'd just come up to finish up his homework, but when he'd arrived, Catherine was there. He couldn't recall her last name, though he knew that he knew it, because she was a seventh year Ravenclaw. He'd been thinking about red hair and freckle-flecked red skin since his one dance with Ginny Weasley at the Yule Ball, but even so as they chatted in the Astronomy Tower--and he found that the conversation itself seemed as though it was held under water, their voices sounded garbled and nonsensical, so that he wasn't sure exactly what he or she was saying--he had found himself momentarily compelled to move toward the girl. Dark blue eyes watched him in amusement, and then she tucked her pale blonde hair back and kissed him. It was his first kiss, he thought, but as she pulled away, he turned and saw that girl again. She hadn't seemed to age any--her face still the same, though with a bit more brown in her hair. She was still very short.

He blinked and the dream had moved again--cycling through each romantic interlude in his brief life--Ginny and Cho and eventually Daphne, too--and each time he relived the apex of the relationship, the girl was still standing there. He wanted to tell her to go away, but there was something painfully familiar about her--the small white face, brown and blonde streaked hair, and Slytherin badge--and he couldn't seem to force his brain to connect where he'd seen that face before.

The rainy day at the beach faded away, along with Daphne who'd been nestled in his arms against the wet, leaving him and the girl. He stood up and stared down at her irritably. He noticed that there was blood leaking down from her hair across her cheek. Looked like a rather nasty head wound. He could feel his body start to wake up, but he tried to cling on, because suddenly it seemed more important than _anything_ to know why there was blood dripping down her cheek.

It seemed very red in comparison to the rest of the dream, but the girl didn't seem to notice it was there. Michael crouched down in front of her... Now that he was this close, he should have been able to figure out her identity, but for some reason, he just couldn't see it. The only thing she did as he stared at her was stare back... No words this time, though he wished she'd say something. Maybe if she spoke, he could...

The dream faded, though, and Michael was finally left on the edge of wakefulness where he knew he'd never find out who that girl was. It would drive him crazy, though, thinking about it, mostly because he still had that feeling that he knew her from somewhere. That he'd seen her before. He straightened himself up a little, and Daphne stirred. It was still dark, though, and most everyone was still asleep. There was always one or two awake, though, Michael noticed. In the past couple nights, he'd seen the same few students up and about, only closing their eyes and catching sleep when they were on the edge of collapse.

It hadn't taken him long to realize why. They must still see it when they closed their eyes.

Terry was awake. Somehow he'd climbed up to the ledge below one of the higher windows, and he was sitting on it, looking outward. "Hey, Terry," Michael called, just loud enough for him to hear. Still, his voice caused Daphne to stir again. Thankfully, Terry heard him, because he looked away from the window, and, after a moment, climbed down.

Terry didn't say anything until he sat down next to Michael, and even then, the just sort of remained in silence for a while. The quieter Ravenclaw finally spoke. "You've been all right?"

"Yeah, I guess," Michael answered.

"I still can't believe it. Feels like I should be waking up in my dorm room soon and going to class." He looked down at Daphne for a moment, who was quite still. Michael got the feeling that there wasn't much that could wake her up at this point.

"Terry, can I ask you something?"

Terry shrugged, looking up from the sleeping girl to Michael with some concern. "What is it?"

Michael gently ran his hand down Daphne's hair, gazing at her peaceful face for a moment before speaking. "Do you suppose there's something to dreams?"

His friend's concern turned to mild bewilderment at the question. "Well, I don't know. I've heard Harry Potter has dreams that are real, but... I don't guess I've heard of anyone else who has. Why? What did you dream?"

If Daphne was pretending to sleep, she was a better actress than he could have imagined, so Michael figured it was safe enough to speak openly. "This is the second time I've had this sort of dream in the last few days. The first time, I dreamt I was in an accident with Daphne, and I was in the emergency room with her when she died... She didn't know I was there. The dream I just had... I don't get it at all. I kept going through all these moments in my life that were important to me--romantic interludes, you might say--but every time I turned around there was this little girl. I knew I knew her, but now that I'm awake, I can't remember her face... So I don't know who it was, except she was bleeding from her head. It seems like it's somehow related."

Terry scratched his cheek, contemplating it. "It's probably just stress," he said after a moment. "Probably you're just thinking about what scares you."

"But... I don't know who that girl is, so why should some random injured girl scare me?"

"Dunno, mate," Terry said with a shrug. "But it doesn't seem like something you should be worrying about."

Michael had the feeling that even should he try not to worry about it, he was going to anyways. Even though he couldn't make out the girl's features anymore, the bright red sliding down her white face was still vibrant in his mind. It made him want to never shut his eyes, because the afterimage was painfully vivid.

"Terry, what are you going to do now?" he finally asked. "Are you going to try and follow Anthony?"

Terry leaned back against the wall, and it looked as if he wasn't going to say anymore. Then he offered, "Yes, but not just for Anthony."

Michael nodded, understanding. "Finnigan's going." As much as he disliked the Gryffindor, he couldn't fault Terry for going along with him.

"Seamus said that anyone that took over his mind was going to pay for it. But no, that's not the reason."

Michael thought about it for a while. There were a lot of reasons to go... The greater good, the salvation of humanity... All those reasons that made Potter chase after the Dark Lord. But that wasn't Michael, and he really didn't think that was Terry, either. Then again, he really didn't think it was _Anthony,_ and Anthony had gone. "Then what?"

"Merry wasn't in the Great Hall when we looked through the bodies." Terry paused. "I don't think she was at the school anymore."

"You think she went with Potter?" Terry nodded, but Michael shook his head. "But she was so young. Why would someone that young chase after the DA on a suicide mission?

Terry shrugged. "Well, consider. She was probably feeling awfully alone and scared. Her friends were dead. What else was she going to do? Would you remain in a castle filled with bodies?" The question was rhetorical, and Michael didn't answer it. He wouldn't have, though. If his last hope was following Potter, he probably would have done it. But that wasn't his last hope anymore.

"You're not going, are you?" Terry asked.

Michael threw a surprised glance in Terry's direction. "How did you know?"

"Could see it on your face. You don't want to." He slid further down the wall until he was almost lying down. Michael found he appreciated Terry's nonjudgmental take on the fact that he wasn't going. He never said a word about it, and didn't even go into detail about why people _were_ going. It was just what it seemed to be... A statement. 'You're not going, and I accept that.'

It wasn't too much longer after that that Michael could tell that Terry, too, was asleep. Daphne hadn't awakened either, during their talk, and he was vaguely grateful for that... He'd gotten one last chance to talk to his best friend alone before they went their separate ways. Putting his hand over Daphne's, he looked to Terry, who was already snoring a bit.

"Just take care of yourself."


	7. Temporarily Diverted

Chapter Seven 

When she awoke, her head was no longer on Michael's lap, but rather propped on what seemed to be his jacket rolled up. She buried her nose in the aged suede and took a deep breath. It smelled completely Michael-ish, and somehow that gave her an unpleasant jolt, reminding her of something which she'd nearly forgotten, but she was still too comfortable and sleepy to think much on why that jacket and his smell together bothered her. She blinked a few times, watching dust drift in with the morning light through the window. She could hear voices nearby--it sounded like Michael and Hermione were already awake, and somehow through it all she could smell something really nice...

That's what got her up finally. She sat up and tried to pop the stiffness out of her joints. She could see everyone gathered around in a circle eating what looked like fresh baked bread. Emma was there talking to Michael and Hermione, who looked somewhat amused about something. Daphne got to her feet a little unsteadily and walked over to the table where a few slices of still warm bread remained. Seamus leaned against the table, picking his own slice apart as he ate it.

"I guess we'll be saying good-bye, then, Greenhouse," he said, and somehow the nickname seemed affectionate.

"What do you mean?" she asked, feeling groggy. She took a bite of the warm, buttery bread and could barely conceal a sigh of contentment.

"Terry told me Corner isn't going after Harry and the others, and I reckoned you'd stick with him so."

"Yeah, I am," Daphne said, though she wasn't quite sure _where _they were going yet. Sure, to the Ministry, but after that...? "...You're going?"

"Sure an' you're still dreamin'. Wake yourself up a bit. Here." He poured a glass of juice for her from a pitcher next to the bread and slid it across the table. After eying it for a moment, she picked it up.

"You're being awfully nice today." Considering, Daphne added silently, that she'd just knocked him out with a brick a couple days ago. As for that... "How's your head?"

To this, Seamus smiled. "Reckon it still hurts a bit. Any'ow, I just figure it doesn't feel right to hang onto all that from school. Not with this goin' on like it is. I was thinkin' about it 'fore I fell asleep last night. All that hexin' we used to do on each other. It was kinda good practice, says I. Fun, too. Made me smile."

Daphne replied with an uneasy smile of her own, but he was right. It hadn't been very fun at the time, but now that she was thinking about it... Of course, it didn't exactly seem right to be thinking about that. It made everything seem so final, like she was ending a chapter in her life. It hit her then... If Finnigan was going after Voldemort, she might never see him again. Oddly enough, she was surprised by how much the thought of that hurt. "You remember that one time you turned me green?"

He laughed outright. "Oh, aye. And you responded with... I really don't think anyone but Aislin and Madam Pomfrey knew about the fur."

Daphne chuckled. "You know, if we weren't busy hexing each other all the time, we could have been friends."

He smirked. "Well, I don't know too much about that. At least we could have been civil." He set his breakfast on the table, and held out his hand to her. "You and Michael take care, all right? Keep him from doin' anything stupid. Sure an' we know he will."

Daphne took it for a moment before letting go. "You go getting yourself hurt, and I'll hex you. Swear to Merlin I will."

Seamus was about to respond, but it was about then that Michael interrupted... So the Irish Gryffindor just shrugged and went about his breakfast.

"Daphne, you have to hear some of these stories. it's... It's this whole culture they've never even discussed in the history texts. They actually have fun on the full moon."

Somehow, despite the fact that he'd just broken into a Moment, Daphne couldn't fault him for it. His face seemed to have lost about three years, and he was grinning from ear to ear in a way she hadn't seen for... Well, that was sad, because she couldn't even recall the last time she'd seen him anything more than drawn and pale. She found it somewhat contagious, feeling the muscles in her own cheeks start to ache in disuse as she smiled.

"Maybe when all this is over, you can come back and document it, aye?" she replied softly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Hermione shortly after made her way over. "So, I hear from Terry you aren't going after the others."

Word certainly did seem to get around fast, Daphne thought. She nodded. "We're going to go to the Ministry first and see what news they have. Then we'll go from there."

"That's a good idea," Hermione said, nodding thoughtfully. "But I think I have an idea of where to find Harry and the others, so I guess this is where we'll be parting ways. Terry, Seamus, and I will be escorting the children to the hospital, so... good luck to you both."

"Wait, Granger, there's one thing we should warn you about," Michael interjected, glancing meaningfully at Daphne.

She looked between Michael and Hermione, and Seamus, who was now looking over Hermione's shoulder at her. For the second time, she explained the fact that she thought it was a trap, and that she thinks the message left with Seamus by the Death Eaters suggested that You-Know-Who was ready to use the Imperius curse on them all.

"Well, I'd figured it was a trap, but good thinking with the Imperius Curse." Hermione seemed to ponder this, while Seamus idly rubbed the back of his head where Daphne had hit him.

"That means your friends might be waiting there to attack you," Michael added. Hermione nodded... Thankfully, Daphne knew, Hermione knew how to solve problems like that. Daphne could figure them out just fine... After all, she was a Slytherin. They weren't all masters of the dark arts, but more often than not, you'd find one that thought that way.

"I don't know how we're going to get past that, if it's the case. I really do wish that the Hogwarts Library was still..." Hermione paused again. "Actually, the shield was down... Mackenzie told me that the Death Eaters disapparated. I might be able to apparate in, if there's anything left."

Seamus shook his head behind them. "Always turning to the books."

"Hey. If there's something there that can help us... Keep in mind we'll have access to the restricted section now."

He threw up his hands in defeat. "If that's what you want to do. I don't think we should be wastin' a lot of time, though, if what Greenhouse's sayin' is true."

"Greengrass," Michael commented absently.

"I'm just going to be looking for a stronger shield charm. It might help. The fact is, it doesn't matter how many times you fight off the Imperius Curse. If you're caught by surprise..." Hermione looked at Seamus, "Or _tortured..._"

"We should first find out what we can from the Ministry," Michael mused, rubbing his chin. It didn't take much thought to put two and two together... A Ravenclaw was a Ravenclaw for life, after all, so she wasn't surprised by his next comment. "There'll be a lot of texts to go through. I'll help if you want," he added, glancing at Daphne.

"Me too," Mackenzie piped up, suddenly appearing at Seamus's shoulder with Terry. "It may be all I can do, but that's something, isn't it?"

"But first, we need to find out what we can about the others," Daphne put in. After all, what good would it do any of them to run around trying to find ways to block the Imperius Curse if Potter's little party was already dead? Not to mention that she really wanted to know what Snape was up to, and why Dumbledore and many of the other professors had seemingly abandoned them.

"So, we'll stick together a little longer then?" Terry asked, looking from each face.

Daphne nodded. So did Michael... It seemed like a good plan. Perhaps it was better this way anyway. The others stayed out of danger a bit longer, in any case.

"We'll meet you at the Ministry, then," Daphne said, looking around at the other five. Their injuries seemed to be healing well now, which was a comfort. The lacerations on Hermione's face weren't open anymore, and the bruising around Mackenzie's jaw was almost invisible now. "We should get out of these peoples' way, in any case. Oh, before I forget... When we apparate to Hogwarts, it's probably best if we meet up on the grounds. No one checked the rest of the castle... Who knows if it's even still standing?"

Hermione nodded. "As sad as that is, it's true. All I remember is what I saw in the Great Hall. As much as I wish I could forget that. It's awful that we should even be able to apparate there in the first place."

"It's convenient," said Michael. "And if convenience is what it takes..."

Daphne looked over at the others, who were already starting to group together by Emma, who was still telling her stories. It didn't seem like the younger ones were really bothered by it at all... Or perhaps they were. They just knew they'd be leaving soon enough so that facing a town full of werewolves wouldn't be a problem. It was nice to see their guide smiling, too... She hadn't the night before. Then again, when seventeen strangers show up on your doorstep, you would tend to be a bit stressed. Her son, too, was there, still clutching the teddy bear from the night before. He was doing his very best to hide within the folds of his adoptive mother's robe, while still sneaking looks to the others in the room. It was so _normal,_ it was almost hard to believe that these people were cursed.

She found herself drawn out of her musing by Mackenzie, who was elbowing her a bit. "Daphne? Is that all right?"

"What?"

"Terry and I are going to go with you and Michael. Seamus and Hermione are going to take the younger students to the hospital. Is that okay?"

"Oh." Daphne offered. "That's fine. We'll meet you outside the Ministry then?" she asked, looking to Hermione.

The Gryffindor witch nodded, and grabbed Seamus' arm to lead him over to others. She said something to Emma, who took a book out of the bag she had sitting next to her on the table. That was the portkey. Not some dusty old tome, but something that had been well cared-for. Muggles didn't need to leave it alone, after all.

"Shall we, then?" Terry asked.

The first group to go was Hermione, Seamus, and the few students who were worst injured. Seamus was carrying the boy Terry had been toting around. The rest could stand easily enough on their own two feet, but none looked particularly well, and Daphne couldn't help but feel relieved that they'd be in the capable hands of the St. Mungo's mediwitches soon enough. Long moments went by before Seamus and Hermione returned just to take the next group.

Daphne sat on one of the cots near Emma and Matthew. Michael was leaning on the wall by Terry, not saying much at the moment, but looking to be in a much better mood than before. Mackenzie came and sat beside her.

"So, I take it you're going after He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named then?" queried Emma.

"How did you--? Well, not all of us are," Max replied.

"I understand not wanting to be involved," Emma replied, eyeing Daphne. "Not everyone can save the day, after all."

Daphne raised an eyebrow, not sure if that was directed at her or not.

"Still, there are plenty of things to do that don't involve being in the midst of fighting. You just have to find what they are..." Her eyes trailed back to Mackenzie. "Even if it seems scary... When you know what you have to do, well, just do it." She smiled down at Matthew as she said the last bit, gently running her fingers through his hair. "As long as you're protecting the one you care about... You're not living uselessly."

Daphne smiled at the boy, who seemed a lot less shy now that there weren't so many people crammed into one room. Despite the fact that the room was quite large, it did seem to hold noise within it quite well. Now that all the younger students were gone, it seemed a lot quieter. "Well, we still plan to do what we can," she said, looking at Max. She still didn't know what the other girl was planning on doing after they parted ways at the library.

"We're supposed to meet them there," Michael was saying to no one in particular, thus suggesting that they get to apparating already. Daphne couldn't say she was exactly sorry to be leaving, as, despite the fact that these people were quite nice... Or, at least, Emma was... They were still werewolves.

"Thank you, Emma," Daphne said, getting to her feet. It was about all that was necessary to say. There was no reason to go down a list, because their host had practically done everything she could for them.

The woman smiled. "Well, I'll admit, it was my job to keep watch on you. Make sure you didn't get about the city."

Daphne didn't exactly like the idea that they'd been prisoners, but it hadn't been a bad stay, so she couldn't complain. The others offered their thanks, too, in their own ways. Terry just kinda sat quietly next to Matthew, while Max went on and on about how great everything was. Michael actually promised a revisit to which Emma was pleasantly surprised. She said he was welcome back any time... only he should make sure to check the moon calendar.

Apparating was simple. In fact, it was Daphne's favorite form of wizarding transportation because it didn't involve getting yourself dusty in a floo, and it didn't involve any discomfort or pain. They decided they'd meet in the alley outside the Ministry's phone booth entrance, and that's exactly what they did. One by one, they disapparated from the werewolf village with a faint _crack_, and within seconds, they were there.

How could Muggles stand to live any other way?

"Now, we wait for Seamus and Hermione," Terry said, looking up and down the dusty alley. The sun was just starting to shine over the buildings in the distance.

Michael nodded and crouched down, leaning against the building and rubbing his eyes. Daphne considered squatting down beside him, but she felt too nervous to rest right now, though it seemed the others were fine with the present quiet. Somehow, she just had an unpleasant feeling, and well... These days it paid to listen to those feelings, at least in her opinion. Then again, it could just be the general paranoia of the times. She couldn't tell, so she kept it to herself, crossing her arms and pacing to the fore of the alley.

Of course, the Ministry was located in the most random of places, but even if there were a tonne of Muggles living around, the place seemed oddly quiet. She rubbed her arms and paced back to the others. Seamus and Hermione really just couldn't arrive soon enough.

"What's up, Daph?" Michael asked, his voice sounding a little hoarse. It seemed as though he hadn't slept very well, because despite his earlier jubilation, the dark lines under his eyes were more than visible now. Mackenzie was leaning against him, and she seemed to have drifted off for the moment. Terry, too, looked dead on his feet. If they could all just spend a night in a real bed...

There were popping sounds behind her, and she covered her mouth to muffle the shriek.

Had it just been the sound of someone apparating, Daphne would have expected that. However, that was hardly the sound she heard. They weren't 'faint', for one thing, and they carried with them a more mundane quality. Physical, as if magic had nothing to do with it. She noticed the others were staring, too, but not so much in fear. Just surprise. Of course, she had to see what they were looking at.

Three creatures. Two were adult thestrals, ridden by Hermione and Seamus. The third was a thestral foal, which was dancing around its mother's feet now. All three of them were bandaged quite heavily, and Daphne looked at Hermione for an explanation.

"We found out a few things," Hermione said, jumping off the back of the thestral. "First, right after the time of the attack, two wizards came in with these animals. They left them outside the hospital, and St. Mungo's took them into a spare room they had in the basement. The wizards left. Didn't even check out."

Seamus jumped to the ground, too. "And these are Hogwarts animals, sure enough. Tame, they are. So I'm thinkin' they came from the forest." He patted his thestral on the shoulder, and it, in turn, looked at him for food or something. It seemed a bit underfed. "Anyway, they don't care for animals there, so Hermione said we should take 'em because we knew a couple people that do. And we can take 'em back to the castle while you all go check in with the Ministry. Sure an' we told you we'd see you here, though, so here we are. Thought we'd stop by with 'em and tell you to hurry up a bit."

Daphne approached the nearest one and touched its nose. It was actually fairly soft for such a draconic-looking creature. It nudged her hand... She could feel it and see it, and it was just so real. She'd never wanted to have to see one, even though she _had._ It was complicated. "Is there anyone that _can't_ see them?" she asked.

"Muggles can't," Seamus muttered.

"So you're not going to come with us?" Michael asked, not going near the creatures, though he didn't look outwardly afraid.

"No, we'll head to Hogwarts and meet you there. I'm sure you four can handle it," Hermione replied with the ghost of a smirk. Daphne was amused to see that Michael didn't appear so.

"See you there," Seamus said, turning his thestral and taking to flight. Hermione gave them a nod and did the same.

Daphne sighed as the animals—-at once so beautiful and terrible-—took to the air, their sinewy wings throwing some fliers on the sidewalk into the air. She watched them until the ebony specks disappeared, and then she realized that Michael and Terry were having a rather intense conversation, though Max also seemed to be watching the thestrals' departure with a look of rapture on her face.

"The little one was so cute," she breathed.

"Two wizards brought them in… Who would do that?" Michael was asking his friend, the lines forming between his brows looked sharp.

"Dunno, mate," Terry replied with a shrug. "Doesn't seem like Death Eaters would do that, though, does it?"

"Do you think it was the professors then? Or maybe some students who ran off before we woke up?"

Once again Terry shrugged. All four jumped again and turned as a trashcan fell to its side behind the two boys. A cat peeked out at them and then scampered off down the alley. Michael and Terry sighed in relief.

"Whoever it was, we won't know anything until we go inside," Daphne said, breaking the silence. "Let's go."

It was a good thing that the streets were nearly deserted. If Hermione and Seamus flying around on invisible creatures wasn't enough, Terry and Daphne were in robes rather than Muggle clothing. When one was a Pure-blood, well, Muggle clothing wasn't something that was usually purchased. Still, they made their way unheeded to the Ministry building.

The conversation continued as they stood in the lobby. There was a large fountain there that seemed to have been repaired at one point or another. Some of the stone was newer and much less weathered.

"Well, they were probably injured if they went to St. Mungo's," Max suggested. "And probably unable to apparate for some reason if they took thestrals."

"Or they didn't know that they were able to apparate from Hogwarts," Terry added. "Which meant they were either students or professors. Death Eaters would have just apparated out. Unless it was another message of some kind."

Daphne shook her head, though. "No, they wouldn't have expected anyone to go to St. Mungo's. It's too out of the way. If there were Death Eaters leaving messages, they would have been more obvious." She'd figured everything out rather well, anyway. Well, she and Hermione had, and the Gryffindor probably would have eventually figured it out on her own had Daphne not been there. She had to grudgingly respect the other witch. "I think the professors would have realized the shield was down. I'm guessing it was probably students."

"Maybe," Michael said. "We really don't know, do we? Hopefully we'll get some answers at least. I'm tired of--"

"--Not knowing," Daphne finished along with him. She started forward toward the witch at the front desk, but it looked as if they'd already been noticed, because there were a couple people heading toward them. The man in front reached them first, taking one of Daphne's hands in his... It wasn't a welcome gesture, but she didn't pull away. He seemed to be quite glad to see them.

"You're from Hogwarts, aren't you?" he asked. "Why don't you all come with me?"

Had any of them been there with Harry two years ago, they would have realized this was not the normal protocol for Ministry business. Normally they'd have to have their wands examined and taken away, given badges, etc., etc., but it seemed that the times had caused the Ministry to be a bit more lenient, at least in their case. They followed the rather large man past various offices, ducking as notes and owls sped around overhead.

"We're glad to see you. We got word from the St. Mungo's staff that Hogwarts survivors had appeared a few hours ago in their waiting room. It's good to see that not all of you required medical attention. By the way, I'm Kingsley Shacklebolt."

"Mackenzie Spinks," Max immediately volunteered. She paused, and no one else spoke up, so she continued. "And this is Daphne Greengrass, Terry Boot, and Michael Corner."

Kingsley pushed open a door to an office at the end of the hall and ushered them inside. "It's soundproof in here. We can talk more freely," he said by way of explanation. The four youths entered the room and found a few sparse chairs and a desk with what seemed like a fire roaring on top of it like at a campsite. The four blinked and looked at each other uncertainly. Their guide shut the door and walked to the other side of the desk, transfiguring a chair for himself and bade them sit.

"The survivors are here," he said, and a moment later a face began to take shape out of the flame. It was Remus Lupin. This caused even more surprise between the assembled students.

"It's good to see you all alive and well," the rather ragged werewolf replied, smiling at them all with what was genuine relief. "We've had limited reports on what took place at Hogwarts, so if you could tell us what happened…"

"Then you'll tell us what exactly is going on?" Daphne interjected.

"We'll do our best," Lupin replied, looking somewhat amused. "But even we," and he said we as though we meant something other than the Ministry or the professors at Hogwarts, "don't' know everything yet."

"So, who'd like to start?" Kingsley asked, looking between them.

Daphne looked at the others. They probably all had different accounts of what was going on because they'd all been in different places with the exception of her and Michael, who had been together. Her eyes paused on Michael, who was looking at the desk and sort of avoiding looking at her... At least it seemed that way. "Fine," she said after a moment. "I was asleep in one of the dorms, and I had a dream that woke me up."

"Yeah, that was the same thing with me," Michael volunteered. Daphne waited for him to continue, but Lupin stepped in instead.

"How clear were the dreams? It doesn't really matter what their content was."

"They were..." She looked at Michael almost nervously. "Pretty clear." He nodded.

"Ah. Well that might have been the first hint that something was about to happen. It's too bad no one caught that. Then again, who would really think to report a clear dream? In any case, go on."

Confused, Daphne nevertheless went on. "We-- Michael and I, that is, were on a perimeter patrol, so we didn't see what happened to the school. But right around maybe halfway through, we were attacked. Stunned. By Professor Snape. Michael and I woke up and went back to the castle. It was destroyed by that point."

"There were a lot of students and refugees were in the Great Hall around then," Terry continued. "Seamus Finnigan and I were elsewhere, looking for stragglers. The meeting WAS in the courtyard, but someone suggested we move it into the school so everyone could hear. We heard the noise, so we went to investigate. By the time we got there, the only people that were still about were... Well, there was one Death Eater I could see. The others we could see just disapparated. He disappeared, but he was still there, I guess. Hiding. Seamus and I started looking, and apparently at one point, whomever it was got Seamus with the Imperius Curse."

"Was there anyone IN the Great Hall?" Professor Lupin asked. One by one, everyone turned to look at Max.

She looked down. "Well, I wasn't there the whole time, but I saw the start of it."

Lupin smiled at her kindly. "Tell us what happened, Mackenzie."

The Ravenclaw seemed emboldened by the fact that Remus knew her name and started to speak. "There were a lot of people in the Great Hall. It's one of the places where most of the students have been sleeping lately." She took a shuddering breath. "Suddenly, it felt like the air twisted. It… was really strange. It made me feel sort of dizzy and my ears popped. I guess that was the Apparition shield going down. The next thing we knew, there were Death Eaters standing there. Harry," she sounded a little choked up, and Michael reached out and gently squeezed her hand. "Harry and the D.A. members, they all were there and they were attacking the Death Eaters, but they were killing so the students. I don't know where the professors were. It was too chaotic. I was just paying attention to Anthony…"

She paused for a moment, wiping her eyes. "Then, then they grabbed Ron Weasley and ran out of the hall, and Harry and Ginny and some others ran after them. I was still in the hall with Anthony when they grabbed Draco, and he tried to get free, but he couldn't… Pansy was crying and trying to get to him, but they disappeared. She and Anthony ran out after where Harry had gone, and I tried to follow, but Anthony told me to hide… I guess that's when the explosion happened, and I thought the whole castle was going to come down because it was so loud. I don't know what happened because I was outside with the others, but they all disappeared right as the explosion happened, I think. I... I can't remember it so well now, and I didn't know what to do except hide because people were running around and screaming and there were still Death Eaters in the castle… I'm so sorry!"

On her other side, Terry was looking quite pointedly at a jar of quills, but his hand was on her shoulder.

Kingsley and Lupin were silent as Mackenzie's soft sobs filled the room.

"So, a trap then?" the werewolf surmised, finally breaking the silence. "You've all done very well, and there was nothing more any of you could do. So now it's our turn."


	8. An Accident

Chapter Eight 

Daphne felt quite out of her element, though not entirely uncomfortable. To some extent, they were all dreading going into the castle because they could already smell the scent of decay hanging around the grounds. It wasn't pleasant, and it was a task none of them were looking forward to. Daphne, however, was facing a different kind of challenge. She was being a friend.

Apparently no one had really realized how devastated Mackenzie was over the incident in the Great Hall. After reliving it through her words, she was virtually torn apart, and Daphne found herself calming the Ravenclaw down. Max was leaning on her shoulder now as they walked, which wasn't exactly practical or easy, but it worked well enough. She just didn't want to go back into the castle. No one did; at least they wouldn't have to go into the Great Hall again.

There was a blur of grey and black that darted in front of them and through the broken castle doors, and Daphne supposed that the local wildlife would be starting to make homes in the now-deserted castle. Of course, that was something else they'd have to look forward to. Hopefully they wouldn't run into anything terribly hungry inside. The three thestrals Hermione and Seamus had taken from the hospital were standing just outside the large doors, but they, at least, looked to be well-fed. At least something was happy, though the fact that the horselike creatures were probably hanging around the castle because of the smell seemed to make them all uneasy.

As they walked through the corridors, no one really spoke. It was as if they were visiting a grave, and they were quiet out of respect... perhaps a little fear. No one knew for certain whether or not all the Death Eaters were gone, and just being in this area was enough to set everyone on guard. They'd done quite a good job at destroying the castle. At one point, the former students looked out a missing section of the wall and noted that one of the towers seemed to have collapsed on itself. How long had it been standing before that? Five hundred years? A thousand?

The library was in good shape. In fact, it didn't look like it had been attacked at all. Of course, it was suffering from the castle's structural damage, and the floor shifted on its base as they walked across it. At points they could hear the heavy wood and stone beams below them shift and creak dangerously, and it wasn't just a light warning when Michael told them all to walk softly.

They found Seamus and Hermione in the restricted section as predicted, looking up various types of shield charms. "We found a few," Hermione said as she looked up to greet them. "It's obvious why they're restricted, too. Look at this one."

Terry picked up the book, skimming over the page for a moment before his eyebrows shot up. "I guess that's how Harry survived when he was a baby…" He handed the book to Michael who skimmed the page and handed it to Daphne. Mackenzie looked over her shoulder.

"The one under it isn't much better," Hermione replied. "Most of them require either blood or someone willingly dying…"

"Blood magic is the most powerful, isn't it?" Mackenzie asked, hiccupping.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, it is, but it's also extremely dangerous if it goes wrong… because it is so powerful." She sighed, and dropped another book on the pile. Michael bent and picked it up, dropping down to sit cross-legged beside Seamus and Hermione. He was immediately intent on his readings. Terry sat down beside him and picked up another.

"So, anything that doesn't involve death and gore?" Daphne asked.

Seamus shook his head. "I don't reckon there's much… The one's that don't require human blood generally require something like dragon blood… And sure an' you're just as likely to die tryin' to get that as you are trying to fight Death Eaters."

"Here's one," said Michael, his finger running over the page as he began to read. "To procure a shield as hard as diamond, one must… Oh wait, never mind. You have to burn ten runes into your own chest. Ugh."

"But one thing I'm wondering about," Seamus murmured, "is that sure an' I thought Harry could resist the Imperius Curse. He did it in Moody's class back in fourth year, and from that article in the Quibbler, it seems he did it again even though it was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named who cast it on him so."

"Yes, but that just means that he's in even more danger than the others... Because he _is_ the only one who is strong enough to resist it," Hermione replied, worrying her lip. "If we just run in there, we'll end up canon fodder for Voldemort--" everyone except the bushy haired girl flinched visibly "--to use against Harry. I'm really worried about him. Harry is really brave, but if Ron or Ginny or me... Well, he could never raise a wand to us, which means we have to get to Harry before he finds..." She looked at the others in exasperation, as everyone flinched before she even uttered the name. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Mackenzie and Daphne crouched down with the others, taking books off the stack that Hermione had made. For several moments, the room returned to silence as the six former students focused on searching for the right spell. As she read, Daphne thought back to what Lupin had told them. Someone had seen Ginny Weasley, Ernie Macmillan, and Luna Lovegood in Salisbury two days ago. No sign of Harry or the others, and no bodies yet. No one had seen Dumbledore, Snape, or McGonagall since then either. Several of the professors were presumed dead, including Sprout and Sinistra. All in all, it seemed that Kingsley and Lupin were as lost as they were. However, they did tell the four that the Ministry was already making steps towards taking care of the bodies at Hogwarts, which was a small reassurance, but one nonetheless. Daphne couldn't say why, but it seemed that the two adults had been hiding something...

...And Hermione was hiding something, too. Everyone was. People knew things they weren't saying, even though this wasn't a great time for keeping secrets. _Everything _should be out in the open among them all. Hell, most everyone was eighteen now anyway, and they were all practically thrown into their adult lives before they even had time to say goodbye to their childhoods. Daphne thought specifically of Seamus, who never would have offered a hand of friendship to her at Hogwarts. People were different. The only think that remained the same was that no one felt obligated to make sure everyone knew everything they needed to.

"You know, people have died," Daphne said, abruptly disturbing the quiet of the library. A couple of the others jumped at the voice, while several pairs of eyes turned to look questioningly at her.

"That's why we're goin' through the books," Seamus said. "Because we're tryin' to stop anymore from dyin'."

"No," Daphne said. "No, I mean, everyone has these little things that they know... Secrets. Don't you think it would be best if we got everything out in the open?"

Hermione looked up from the book she was reading. "Look. There's things I'm not saying for a reason. Not everyone has to know them."

"And I'm sure Professor Lupin had a reason for not telling us everything they knew," Terry added. "You're a bit stressed. Everyone is. It's all right."

Sighing and sitting down, Daphne leaned back against Michael's shoulder. He leaned in a bit so that she was comfortable, and the two of them went back to paging through the books. Daphne was only skimming over the text, though. Her thoughts kept returning to the Ministry, and things that people were purposely leaving out. What would they not be saying? If she could rule out what they _would _say, perhaps she'd be left with some idea of what they _wouldn't?_ It was bothersome. She didn't want anyone going to face You-Know-Who without the full story.

Perhaps by omitting key elements, Lupin and Shacklebolt hoped to dissuade anyone else from going after Voldemort. But some people were going i anyway... /i 

"This one's not bad." Mackenzie pointed to her book. "But it drains you just to cast it, and it doesn't last long."

"Put that one aside, then," Hermione replied, not looking up. "It may have to do."

Daphne couldn't help her sigh of irritation. She sat up again, and Michael paused in his reading to look at her in concern--one brow arched faintly. "Yes, why don't you all just run into it knowing only small bits and pieces and doing what's good enough? That will really help everyone!" She wasn't quite sure when she had gotten to her feet, but she was starting to feel so angry the room seemed to blur. Behind her, Michael was gently trying to tug her robes, as though that would abate her anger. She yanked free of him and loomed over the others. "If that's all that any of us are good for why don't we just let Potter do it himself? He's probably far more capable than any of you!"

Hermione's jaw dropped, as did Mackenzie's. Terry shook his head, and Michael was trying to reach out again for her robes again, so again she moved away from him.

"I hope he knows everything, because with what we know what's the use?"

"At least we're doing something!" Hermione retorted, also moving to her feet. "You and Michael are just running away!"

She could see Michael wince, and it only further fanned the fire. "That's because we're intelligent enough to know we're of no use to Potter or any of the dullards that went after him!"

Even Michael's jaw had dropped at that, though he didn't actually protest.

"Is that right? As far as I see it, you're cowards!" Hermione spat back, her temper obviously fraying now, too.

Daphne clenched her jaw so hard it hurt. She thought it might lock up for a second, and she knew that if she didn't just walk away, she'd probably end up slapping Granger the Know-it-All who was always so much better than everyone else. Ha! Shows what she did know, because Granger was just as useless as Michael and Daphne, but at least Daphne _knew_ she couldn't help! She wasn't living some foolish dream in which she thought she was some kind of hero. It was just so pathetic. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"I'm going to go check on the thestrals. I'll be back in a little bit," she said, forcing her voice back into an even tone.

Hermione eyed her with a frown and sat back down, turning her back to the Slytherin. Mackenzie looked like she was going to cry again. Terry had just returned to reading like nothing had happened. Seamus was staring at her, but she could see that Terry had one hand on the Irish boy's, keeping him in check. Michael was just staring off into space as though he wasn't sure what to make of it all. How the hell was this lot going to be of any use to Potter? It made no sense whatsoever. She sighed, running a hand through her hair and turned to leave the library.

She shouldn't have blown up like that. It was stupid to throw that divide in among all of them when they really were doing their best. Hermione's words stung, too, but that was the least of her worries. They weren't running away, after all... Daphne was totally convinced that she and Michael were going to find some way to help elsewhere. After all, when they all went in and got themselves killed, there would have to be a third line! Why was she even thinking this way?

She sighed again, leaning against the wall just outside the big library doors. The once-Slytherin had no intention of going to check on the thestrals, because that would have taken her right past the Great Hall again, and she didn't want to be anywhere near it right now. It seemed like the whole world was shattered into a million pieces of glass and they were all trying to piece it back together with their bare hands. It just. Wasn't. Working.

Her eyes turned to the stairwell leading upward. If she followed it, it would eventually take her to the Gryffindor tower. She wasn't exactly sure why she felt the need to head up in that direction, but she did, climbing higher and higher into the castle that was now far too quiet. A few portraits still hung on the walls, but their occupants were departed, so no one spoke to her as she went. No one questioned why there was a Slytherin heading deeper into the Gryffindor sector of the castle.

Even the magic which caused the stairways to move was now dead.

Not that it really mattered anyway. Perhaps her argument with Hermione was just... Almost a willingness to bring back that old rivalry. Make it okay again. Make it seem like they were all still students and they still had a reason to hate each other if they wanted to.

At last, she stood in front of what would have been the portrait guarding the Gryffindor Common room. It was just an empty hole now, though. The portrait had been removed. Daphne stepped inside, ignoring the creak of the floor under her feet.

Even as dilapidated as it was, the Gryffindor common room was still rather cheery and warm… Sort of luxurious with all the reds and the few tapestries that did still remain. Slytherin and Ravenclaw didn't look nearly this good lately… She walked over to the fireplace and ran her hand over the mantle. Months' worth of dust piled under her fingers, and she sneezed softly. There was a soft creak around her, as though stones were moving, but seeing as she was in a tower, she figured that's probably how it usually sounded. It must have been eerie for the Gryffindors. After all, every day they had to hear that creaking and groaning. They must have thought the stones were going to come down on them any minute. Then again, they were Gryffindors. Maybe they didn't care about that—too brave or foolhardy to worry about such paltry matters.

She walked over to one of the windows and peered out. She could see the remains of the other tower, and she realised that must have been Ravenclaw. For a moment, she paused, trying her best to empathise with what the others with her had felt upon really seeing their home totaled. She found she couldn't do it. There was a soft sound behind her like something with claws was scratching around, and she turned to see if it was perhaps a rat, but nothing was there.

She shrugged and walked towards the stairway leading further up into the tower. The stones seemed to moan softly around her, the whole tower seeming to sway with the wind, but even so, she continued up the stairs. She'd never seen the Gryffindor dormitories, and this might perhaps be her last chance. As long as she was here...

After a while, she stepped into one of the dormitories. It was still furnished... There were even, she noted, a few personal belongings still here. A few robes were tossed here and there, and by the size of them, this must have been the dormitory for some of the younger students. She couldn't tell if it was the boys' or girls' dorms, though... Following the Slytherin layout, it would have been the latter, but who could really tell? Gryffindor was always so backwards.

There was a wall hanging that was just lying on the floor now, and, crouching down, Daphne took it into her hands. It would have been beautiful once... All red and gold with the Gryffindor lion on the front. Courage. Very few people knew that the snake - Slytherin's own mascot - was a symbol of trust and friendship. People were too busy looking at the snake as a being of evil to note anything else. Not that Daphne minded, as she much preferred keeping a few people close rather than a whole lot. She wasn't a Gryffindor. She wasn't a beacon of courage. But she had her friends, and she just wanted to protect them.

She stood again, and the floor creaked as if it were in pain. For a moment, Daphne felt a sting of fear, but that passed with the sound. Still, she figured it was about time to get out of the tower, and so she gently set the tapestry on the nearest bed.

The floor groaned again, and, oddly enough, she heard the sharp cry of a panicked cat somewhere behind her. Turning, the girl saw the creature - the one that had followed them into the castle, which was the same one that she'd seen in the alley outside the Ministry. It looked familiar somehow, but she didn't have time to think on that.

The boards under her feet dipped down, resting on their stone supports below. They were already unstable, so they shattered. Sometimes when people go through an ordeal like this, they describe it as happening in slow motion, but this went by all too quickly. Daphne felt herself fall, and felt the uncomfortable sensation of pain all over as... Was it stone? Something felt as if it were attacking her. She cried out in surprise, reaching out for _something_, but there was only air.

Eventually she hit the bottom and crumpled painfully, and she heard a voice - an old woman's voice, strangely familiar - call her name. There was no time to ponder on that, though, because something heavy - a lot of somethings - crashed down on top of her. Daphne's vision swam red for a moment, and then she gave up her fight to remain conscious.


	9. Finding Daphne

Chapter Nine 

He didn't want to follow that cat. Everything inside screamed at him that the feline would only lead him to trouble, and as he followed it along the corridors, he couldn't help but recall that girl with the bloody face over and over again. The cat had suddenly appeared and started biting him over and over again. When he got up to try to rid himself of the nuisance--since no one else seemed to be paying attention--the cat had run towards the door and paused, looking back at him. It was a rather curious thing for a cat to do, so he decided to follow. Strangely enough, Seamus came with him. Apparently the Irish boy couldn't stand that much reading all at once.

Presently, Seamus was walking just a step behind him, looking slightly cross-eyed as he followed Michael who was following the cat--or rather its tail since that's about all he could see of it at any time. He hastened his pace, feeling a sudden urgency though he didn't know why.

"Are we following that cat so?" Seamus muttered, now almost having to jog to keep up with the taller boy's long strides.

"Yes," Michael replied curtly, breaking into a jog. The cat was running now, and somehow none of this fit right.

"I reckon it's heading to Gryffindor," Seamus said, breaking into a slow lope as well.

Michael didn't reply, instead taking the stairs two steps at a time. He really didn't feel like making small talk, because his nerves were so on edge since Daphne blew up in the library that he felt queasy. Seamus started to lag behind him, but he didn't really pay attention, breaking into a run as the cat jumped through the gaping hole that was the opening to the Gryffindor common room. He followed it up the stairs and nearly fell on his face trying to stop and not run over it as it stopped outside what he assumed to be one of the first year bedrooms. Half the floor had fallen in.

Feeling breathless and shaky, he began to approach the hole.

Seamus started to follow him, but the cat stood in the way, and for good reason. With every step Michael took, the floor creaked under him. Eventually, he reached a point where he really didn't feel as if he should go any farther because he could literally feel the floor buckling under him. And so he stopped, still not close enough to see what was through the jagged break in the floor.

That's when the cat stepped in front of him, glancing upward before leading him a different, less-direct way to the hole. The floor didn't creak as much when Michael stepped on this path; he imagined it must have been on a main support.

"That cat look familiar?" Seamus questioned, but Michael waved his hand at him. He was finally close enough to look down through the floor.

There wasn't much he could see, honestly. One beam led down, but it was eventually obscured by a cloud of dust from the cave-in. The cat jumped onto it, deftly balancing on its way down until it, too, disappeared into the dust. A moment later, they heard the voice. "You'll both have to apparate down here. Straight down. There's a bare patch of floor where you hear my voice. Hurry up."

"Sure an' that _is _McGonagall!" Seamus shouted, eyes widening, but Michael ignored him, overwhelmed by dread. He had to be calm, though. This might not be what he thought it was--Daphne probably wasn't down there under all those beams--and at any rate, hyperventilating and flipping out wouldn't help her if she was. Which she wasn't. That's what he told himself as he glanced at Seamus, too overcome to be irritated.

"Let's just go," he said, apparating down next to the cat and nearly falling. The footing wasn't very good down there, and he could feel the tower _moving _around them. If they weren't careful, all of them would end up buried. Seamus popped in beside him a moment later.

"Feckin' hell! Greengrass!" the Irish boy shouted, confirming Michael's worst fears. He closed his eyes, trying very hard to be calm, because he knew when he opened them he was going to see Daphne crushed under rubble and bleeding and possibly even dead. It took him a moment to realise that Seamus was grabbing him from behind. "Stop, Corner! You're gonna get us all killed jumping around like that in here so!" Seamus shouted, and he realised that he was breathing erratically, and that his hands were bleeding from what he thought must have been a sudden and reckless attempt to start throwing the stones and beams aside.

"Calm down, both of you," McGonagall the cat admonished. "You'll need to levitate the rubble away and carefully set it aside over there where you can see the main beam. Mr. Corner, you must compose yourself for Miss Greengrass's sake!"

Easier said than done, he thought, looking down at his bloodied hands as Seamus finally released him. The blood was caking in the grooves and lines and under his nails. His hands were trembling as he put his hand in his pocket to fish out his wand.

_"Wingardium leviosa!"_ Seamus intoned, setting to task.

It seemed to take forever, in part because he couldn't actually recall saying anything. He knew he must have, though, because he was helping to move the stone and wood that had fallen on top of Daphne. What the hell had she been doing in the Gryffindor dormitory?

If he'd had time to think, he would have also pondered when Professor McGonagall was still a cat, and why, as an Animagus, she was still able to talk. However, all he cared about at the moment was getting to Daphne. She couldn't be dead. There was no way.

"Corner, that'll be enough." Seamus grabbed his shoulder, and Michael realized he'd been moving more rubble, unnecessarily now. Realizing this, he allowed it to fall out of the air and took a few steps forward through the remaining dust. She was there, lying on her side. Though her robes were torn and he could even see the dampness of blood on them, she was still breathing. It was her eyes that really got to him. They were still partially open. Staring. Had he not noticed her ragged breaths first, he might have immediately assumed the worst.

"Be careful," the cat said. "I don't know exactly what happened to her after she fell. That means you can't touch her, Mister Corner," she added as Michael reached out toward her.

Seamus eyed McGonagall with a ferocity that actually made Michael like the boy for that split second. He actually _cared._ "An' why don't you change back and help?" he asked.

The cat was silent for a long time before saying, "I can't."

"Someone, just go get the others, all right? Maybe Mackenzie can..." Do what? They were in the middle of nowhere and Michael was well aware of this fact and nothing was making any sense right now at all. Daphne was going to die here just like she had in his dream, and just like that, she wouldn't know he was even there.

"I reckon I'll do it. I can get there fastest," Seamus said, immediately disappearing. McGonagall the cat walked over and sat beside him, silently curling her tail around herself, and ten years went by--or maybe five minutes--but he couldn't really keep track of how much time because the only thing he seemed capable of presently was mutely staring into her waxen face. He couldn't touch her, but he could see that with each painful, wet breath that she was still alive.

"Where's Mikey?" she whispered raggedly, her half-lidded eyes searching blankly, looking a little glazed, and he couldn't resist gently laying his fingers on her own in part because that filmy gaze scared him senseless.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked from behind him.

McGonagall the cat jumped, fur bristling. "Miss Granger, Miss Spinks... Where did Mr. Finnigan go?"

"I sent him to the werewolf village for help," Hermione replied.

This seemed to please the professor-cum-cat, though Michael wasn't really paying attention. It seemed to him a chunk of the conversation just disappeared into the void. The next thing he heard was McGonnagall asking, "Miss Spinks, you have some medical training?"

Michael looked up at her, and she nodded, though her eyes were wide. She had a hand over her mouth as if fighting back a scream. "Daphne... Daphne does, too..."

"She's not going to be able to help herself right now," McGonagall said, stepping aside and turning her head back to Daphne. She was stirring a bit now, and Michael, despite the professor's instruction, put a hand on her shoulder to stop her from moving too much. She whimpered, eyes pressing closed.

"Hurts."

This seemed to shake Max out of her surprise, and she kneeled down next to the Slytherin, taking her wand out of her pocket. "I can't fix it if I don't know what's wrong."

Daphne's eyes opened, and she again made a half-hearted attempt to move. Michael held onto her shoulder, though. Perhaps she could move her legs at the moment, but that didn't rule out a spinal injury. "Just stay still. It's okay," he said. Though he wasn't sure if it was or not.

She calmed when he said this, and he realized that she knew he was there. Thank i God /i she knew. This wasn't like the dream after all! Then she said something that made him ill.

"I can't see anything."

What came next was sort of a blur. Seamus suddenly appeared with several wizards who he didn't recognise and the room was crowded and suddenly he was being grabbed and yanked about this way and that, but he couldn't really think well enough to resist. The next thing he knew, he was out in the oppressively silent hallway with Terry who looked pale and horrified, and Michael realised it was not so much Daphne, but it must have been because of himself. He stared again at his bloody hands, only now he noticed there was fresh blood on them, and it wasn't his.

"Michael, snap out of it, mate," Terry said quietly, hesitantly reaching forward then dropping his hand. Michael couldn't stop staring at the blood. It was so much darker than his own... and wet, but cold. It was about to be summer, so why was it cold? He'd just touched her, right? She wasn't cold yet. She wasn't dead. She wasn't... Terry was shaking him. "Michael!"

"Sure an' he must be in shock," Seamus voice came from somewhere beyond his vision which was still pinned to his hands.

And Terry surprised him then, because suddenly the taller boy's arms were around him, and he couldn't remember hugging Terry since they were eleven. He stared blankly at the wall behind him and realised he couldn't see it because it was all a sort of shadowed, blurred mess. He could vaguely make out Finnigan standing somewhere in that watery landscape. It took him another minute--or it could have been an hour; he didn't know--to realise that Terry was saying something over and over. "It'll be okay. Just wake up, Mike."

He blinked, and he felt something unpleasantly moist roll down over his cheeks, but the walls finally came into focus.

"The dream, Terry. It's just like the dream." Was he chanting that, too? He couldn't tell, but the next thing he knew, Seamus has pushed Terry aside and delivered a rather sharp slap to Michael's cheek.

"I'll deck you, Corner. I've done it before, and sure an' I'll do it again. Just keep it up."

He stared stupidly at Seamus for a long time, but the strike had the intended effect. It brought Michael back. Of course, then he just wanted to get back into that room with Daphne. _His _Daphne. Seamus, however, grabbed his arms and held him back. Usually, Michael would have been able to struggle out of that grip, but he was too weak to continue. He pleaded instead. "Lemme go. I have to get back there."

"And what're you going to do?" Seamus asked. "Max is in there and about a half-dozen trained healers. You? You play Quidditch. If there's a thing you can do I'd love to hear it."

He felt another hand on his shoulder. Terry's. The contact wasn't unwelcome in that it at least let him know he wasn't completely numb. How could he let this happen, though? Why hadn't he gone after her? That castle was _dangerous! _Michael could still feel tears in his eyes as he finally gave up and leaned back against Seamus. The Gryffindor was the last person he wanted to accept comfort from, but it didn't matter.

"Last thing..." Michael looked toward the room where he could see people moving around. "Last thing anyone told her was that she was a coward." It was a fight to keep his voice steady, but he managed. "How do you like that? How is that fair?"

Terry's hand was around his shoulder again, and Seamus let him go. He allowed himself another embrace, but it wasn't long before he pulled away. No, he wasn't going to try to get back into the room, but he felt like he couldn't just stand still. Like he had to obsessively rub his hands on his robes to get the blood out. Terry followed him as he paced a bit. "She's going to be all right. You'll have plenty of chances to talk to her--"

Max appeared at the door with Hermione. The Gryffindor looked rather pale, and wasn't actually looking at anyone. Max, however, spoke almost confidently. "They're going to have to take her to the hospital, but she'll be fine in a while."

"I'm going," Michael said, as if daring anyone to argue. No one did. Max continued.

"All said, it's not that bad. Her legs are broken because she landed on them. She's cut up pretty badly, and the concussion... It shut down unnecessary senses. She can't see right now, but it'll come back."

Though he felt slightly more relieved by this news, it wasn't the most encouraging. Now that he knew Daphne's life wasn't in danger, though, he turned his attention to Hermione.

"She could have died," he suddenly was saying before he could really stop himself, and he couldn't remember being that angry for some time. Terry clutched his forearm, but that didn't stop his tirade. "She could have died, and you were calling her a coward!"

"I'm sorry, Michael," Hermione replied quietly, calmly. She didn't meet his eye, instead staring at his shoes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

He couldn't think of a reply for that, so he just let his shoulders slump. He was feeling overwhelmed by everything--terror, sadness, anger, and relief. He thought he would have fainted if Terry's hand hadn't still been there holding his arm almost painfully.

"Not everyone's meant to save the world," he said softly.

"I know," Hermione replied, equally softly. "'As long as you're protecting the one you care about, you're not living uselessly.'"

Michael blinked, not sure what to say to that.

"It's something Emma said while we were waiting to leave the village. Anyways, there's something you can do--besides wait for Daphne. Professor McGonagall," and for the first time Michael realised that Hermione was holding the cat in her arms, "is trapped. One of the Death Eaters forced her into this form, and she can't get out." The cat who was formerly their transfiguration professor eyed her students calmly, almost haughtily. "The professor has something that may help us find Dumbledore and maybe Harry, too, but she can't use it as she is. If you two could..."

Michael nodded finally. "We'll do what we can. What are you going to do?"

"We're going to finish researching here--we found a few more spells after you left--and then we're going to meet up with Professor Lupin. He may have gotten another lead on the others. We're going to do what we can to join up with them as soon as we can. Hopefully it's not too late."

"Keep us posted?" Michael asked, his voice sounded raw.

Hermione nodded. "And you do the same," she said softly. "You better be going now." She gave him a faint smile, offering him the tabby.

It felt a bit strange to be carrying their professor around, but Michael took her anyway. "I hope you don't mind if we delay discussing business for a while," Michael muttered. He felt as if he was about to pass out from the exhaustion of an event that couldn't have taken more than an hour.

McGonagall watched as Hermione led the others away. Terry and Seamus stuck around a bit, but Max told them that Daphne was asleep and it would only delay things if they felt the need to say goodbye. Michael was actually somewhat amazed at her ability to take charge in this situation as she was. Of course, it was near Mackenzie's element. It really shouldn't have surprised him that much.

"I don't mind," the cat said after a moment.

Michael headed back toward the room, now not dreading as much what he was going to see. She was still on the pile of rubble, but she'd been bandaged and wrapped in a blanket. The lacerations across her face had been cleaned, but he wondered... Wondered how long it would take to wash the blood out of her hair. "Thanks for following her. We wouldn't have known."

"Had I sensed the floor was going to collapse, I would have stopped her sooner. I thought it was better for her to cool down than go about hexing people again, so I just let her walk." McGonagall paused. "She always did have a rather nasty temper."

"We'll be apparating to St. Mungo's in another moment," one of the werewolves told them. "Thankfully we have that portkey with us so that we can get Daphne there without any problems."

"You can still apparate, right?" Michael asked the cat. "You've been following us, after all." He set her down, crouching next to her so that she didn't have to look so far up to meet his eyes. She nodded. It was one of the few spells that could be done without a wand. Looking up at the healer, Michael nodded. "We'll meet you there then."

He still felt ill inside. Still felt as if this all could have been prevented with a single word. He vaguely remembered the spark of anger he'd felt when Daphne had indirectly called Anthony a 'dullard,' and how that had been the deciding factor in the fact that he hadn't stopped her from leaving. After all, Michael had told himself, he'd have to cool down, too.

The cat vanished with a very faint pop, and he watched as the medical team vanished one by one. One witch went last with Daphne and the Portkey. Michael, finding absolutely no reason to stay around Hogwarts for another moment, soon followed.


	10. The Non Ideal Cure

**Chapter Ten**

He wasn't allowed to see her the first night. The high level mediwitches had gone in to see her, and no one else was allowed in while they worked. When he'd entered the lobby—swaying on his feet with exhaustion—the mediwitch at the desk wouldn't believe that it was not him who was injured. Luckily, Emma and McGonagall had appeared and explained that the blood (which he didn't even realise he was covered in) was not his own. The other werewolves had returned to their village, but Emma remained, gently dabbing the blood off his face, neck, arms, and hands with a warm washcloth while he stared into space, too tired to think or move anymore. She helped him put on a fresh shirt, and then she'd let him rest his head on her shoulder and sleep through the night—McGonagall curled up on his lap.

The next day Emma returned home, though not before forcing him to promise to send word once Daphne was recovered and out. The mediwitches had told Michael then that Daphne would have to remain there for a week, but he could start off seeing her two times a day for ten minutes each. They'd then agreed to look at McGonagall, but it seemed that since only the lower level mediwitches were available, it was an exercise in futility. The higher-ups were so busy with the mass of people coming in near dead that they couldn't spare a single thought, and the lower level ones just didn't know what to do, so they handed him a stack of texts all related to the subject and left him to his own devices in the lobby. It seemed to him that one person could easily have lifted the spell from their former professor, but since they couldn't even find that person unless he decided to show himself or she _was_ human, thus it was a rather cyclical effort.

Daphne slept through the first seventy-two hours without waking up once. Michael feared that she might stay comatose forever. On the third day, they said he could stay with her for an hour. Mackenzie had dropped by then to tell him that the others had met up with Lupin, but still no word of Dumbledore or Harry's group. It seemed that she had a few secrets of her own now, too, but he didn't ask. Instead the two of them sat in silence by Daphne's bed, listening to her even breathing while they read through the texts Michael had been given. Mackenzie left after the hour was up.

All this reading of medical journals was forcing Michael to pick up a few things. Of course, it was impossible to say what he'd really absorbed since he couldn't practice, but he'd memorised some little spells—spells to mend broken fingers, suture mild wounds, and even a resuscitation charm. It wasn't much, but somehow the more he read—searching for a way to turn a well-trained animagus back into her original form when she couldn't—the more he started to retain.

On the fourth day, the nurses didn't bother asking him to leave when the hour was up. McGonagall was sleeping at the end of the bed, her eyes half-lidded in the fashion in which cats—when they're deeply dreaming—sleep. He himself was flipping through a text that weighed nearly fifty pounds, skimming for something, anything… But even as he read, he knew that the only one who could so easily reverse the spell was Dumbledore. He was staring off into space—or rather, he was actually looking down into Daphne's face, one finger still posed over where he'd been reading in the passage, and the other clutching her hand—when she first began to wake up.

The mediwitches had removed most of the bad scrapes from her face and body, and it seemed she wouldn't scar. Her legs were still healing, though, and no one knew if she could actually see yet or not since she hadn't been conscious since the accident. Her fingers twitched and then her hand drew back, linking her fingers between his. She didn't open her eyes, and so he couldn't tell if she was really awake or not.

"Mikey?"

He smiled, not only because he was relieved that she was awake, but because when she opened her eyes, she was looking _at_ him. And not in the way blind people did when they seemed to look at something by looking through it. She was focusing. "Hey," he said. "Have a good nap?"

She closed her eyes again. "Everything's blurry." She paused, and there was a bit of panic in her voice. "I can't move my legs."

He continued smiling, though, which seemed to reassure her even though she was only hearing it. "I think you got hit on the head pretty hard when the dorm collapsed. You'll be all right. And they have your legs locked so they heal."

She was quiet for a while, and Michael thought she might have gone back to sleep. After a brief rest, though, she looked at him again. "That cat was there. The one we saw at the Ministry."

"It's Professor McGonagall," Michael explained as the cat at the foot of the bed opened her eyes and looked at Daphne. He nodded toward the professor before continuing. "She was trapped by the Death Eaters. I've been looking for a way to fix things."

Daphne blinked, squinting at the cat who had never been her favorite professor. McGonagall was sitting up as straight as she could, which looked rather funny for a feline. The proceeding stare-off almost made Michael chuckle, but he was still too tired to manage it. Finally, Daphne said, "How many times did I tell you that transfiguration was dangerous?"

"Yes, well, I believe I told you the same thing, and it is, in the wrong hands," the cat responded, and Daphne looked quite surprised that it was talking to her. McGonagall appeared rather mollified at this. "In any case, I'm quite glad you're all right."

Pulling her hand free of Michael's for a moment, she pushed herself upright so she could sit. "I don't really feel like I fell at all," she said. But then she shook her head. "I don't really remember. The last thing I can think of was the floor breaking apart."

As soon as he could, he took her hand again. There was a need to let her know that he was close, because every time he looked at her in that bed, he remembered that dream. He was afraid that if he left for a moment, he'd come back and she'd be gone. She didn't protest as he squeezed it, instead busying herself with examining the minor scratches on her arms that didn't need immediate care. They really provided the only evidence at all that she'd fallen through the floor in the first place... She was safe. The dream was wrong. It was so odd, though... It wasn't the same, but there were little similarities. "Professor," he said, and the cat looked at him. "We were talking to Professor Lupin, and he said that dreams would have been stronger right before the attack. Daphne and I had pretty clear dreams then." He noticed that the Slytherin offered him a very sharp look right about then. It looked like she'd made the connection now as well.

"That's quite easy to explain," McGonagall said, taking a few steps forward on the bed.

The cat!professor settled down on Daphne's lap, wrapping her tale around her before she continued. "It would take quite a long time even for the most powerful wizards to deconstruct the apparition barrier around Hogwarts. Most likely, the magic they were using affected you on a subconscious level..."

"Then it doesn't mean the dreams we had were prophetic, right?" Daphne asked, and Michael was surprised by the agitation in her voice.

"No, it does not," McGonagall replied primly.

"I had two dreams like that, though... I had another two nights after," Michael said, dropping Daphne's hand as he cradled his own hands in his lap.

He could still smell the blood on them when he really thought about it. He'd scrubbed them raw, so that every line was visually free of any rusty build-up, but even so... He could smell it on his nails. He didn't realise he was scratching at his nails again until McGonagall cleared her throat and eyed him expectantly. Daphne was also staring at him oddly. Feeling suddenly very embarrassed, he put his hands into his pockets for want of something better to do.

"Even if you had two dreams about what I assume must have been an accident occuring to Miss Greengrass, it does not mean that either was remotely prophetic. Most dreams are what you fear most," McGonagall replied with the cat equivalent to a frown. "Obviously you fear harm coming to her person."

"Or death," he mouthed, but the sound didn't quite make it past his lips.

It felt like they were staring at him for a long time before Daphne reached over to put a hand on his shoulder. It was a bit awkward for her, so Michael leaned forward and crossed his arms on the bed. She was smiling, though he couldn't tell how sincere it was. Maybe she was still in pain. "Hey," she said. "I'm okay now anyway. Didn't I say it'd be a Gryffindor that would get to me eventually? I just didn't expect it to be the whole _tower._"

McGonagall tsk'd.

Michael, however, didn't smile. "You remember the fire in the Leaky Cauldron? I thought I was going to lose you _then_ before... You know. When we were still friends."

She took his hand. "Don't even think about it." He offered her a questioning look. "I can take care of myself. If you think you're going to protect me or hide me, don't."

Though he wasn't staring at her, he was looking in her general direction. It was a bit amusing... Before Daphne, Michael's relationships had always centered around touch and closeness. He'd always gotten the sense that they wanted some level of protection, even though they all had their own levels of independence. Daphne was different, and he couldn't quite figure her out... It had been a couple months before she was comfortable with his touch, and even now, he sensed a reluctance sometimes. It was reassuring, and at the same time confounding. "Don't worry," he said, "I won't." ...Even if he wanted to.

"But Hermione was right," she went on to say, and he winced a little. He knew that would come back to haunt her. "I can't just not do anything."

Michael was about to protest this and assure her that Hermione was only speaking in anger. She hadn't meant any of it... But McGonagall was the first to speak.

"Actually, I have something with which you two can help."

Michael was torn. Part of him wanted to take Daphne and run to the ends of the earth and when by some miracle someone sent word that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was vanquished for all time, then they might return. That is, if they didn't decide they liked white beaches and coconut drinks too much to leave behind first. Yes, that was his general motto: the best way to protect things is to shelter them far from danger. But recently... since the explosion in the Leaky Cauldron, he couldn't help it. He was angry.

And now? Now he was furious, and he wanted to rip the people who had destroyed his life, destroyed Hogwarts, killed so many, just ruined everything... He wanted to rip those people limb from limb with his bare hands. And yet, he knew he was useless as a fighter. After those flashes of painful rage, he would then wonder to himself what he would do when he had his wand pointed at a Death Eater, and... he knew deep down he couldn't do anything. He wouldn't be able to kill them no matter how impassioned he felt about it--no matter how much any of them deserved it.

He sat up and drew away from the bed--from the safety of Daphne's touch, because even though it was something that he longed for, something safe and comfortable, he wanted to stand on his own just then. "I don't think there's anywhere to hide, nor do I want to now," he interjected. "But... I can't fight them, because I won't be able to do what it takes, no matter if I wanted to. Even so, I want to find Anthony and Cho and the others."

McGonagall hopped off Daphne's lap and moved to sit on the side of the bed, looking him nearly in the eye.

"If you know you cannot fight and kill, it would be better if you didn't fight at all, but I won't tell either of you not to go." The cat paused, drawing breath before continuing.

"However. If you're about through, there's something you can do to change me back. I've been thinking of it for a time, but I was hoping there was another way."

Michael sat down again. He didn't really feel any better now. Sure, he was glad Daphne was awake, but there was more to worry about. It seemed that when one problem was solved, another just appeared to take its place. Still, when Daphne took his hand without him holding it out to her... That was encouraging. He nodded, indicating for the professor to continue.

"You know of some... people, who have in their power one of the most complicated and potent transfigurative spells anywhere. Of course, it's a curse, though that doesn't diminish its power at all." Michael and Daphne looked at each other. He didn't like where this was going. Apparently there was a good reason McGonagall had left this possible solution until last. The cat cleared her throat, drawing the attention back to her. "Werewolf saliva, as you know, is rather irreversible once you're bitten. There are, however, beneficial uses for it. The difficulty lies in getting it and using it before the end of the full moon. The potion is rather simple to create. But that one component..."

They were silent for a while, then it was Daphne that asked, "Well, who has a moon calendar?"

"Daphne." Michael wondered if she was serious. "We can't just go into their village and... I don't even know what we're going to do. We'd be torn apart. We wouldn't even make it out of there alive." He waited for her to continue, but she didn't. In fact, she looked rather ill. Perhaps it was the pain...

"We have to ask them if we can..." She bit her lip. "Use Matthew."

Michael stared at her for a long moment before speaking. "You mean... Emma's kid?" he didn't want to seem so incredulous, but that seemed a little... well, manipulative. McGonagall, however, didn't seem to think so.

"If he's just a child, it might be all right. It will still be terribly dangerous. Just because he's a child doesn't mean that if he bites you, you won't be infected. Nevertheless, time is short, and I'm afraid the ends justify the means," the elderly professor said, her tail swishing. Daphne nodded, not looking at Michael.

He guiltily looked down at their entwined hands, but didn't draw away. "So... what should we do? Just walk up to the village and say, 'Hi! We need saliva. Can we borrow your son?' Emma is a good person, but..."

"We're not trying to hurt him. You-Know-Who is just as likely to kill werewolves once he's done with the half-... Wizards. It's for their good, too. We'll just tell her that."

Somehow this all seemed a bit more dangerous to Michael than just foolishly chasing off after Potter. After all, at least in that case there weren't emotional repercussions for insulting the bad guys. Still... He couldn't say he'd thought of a better way.

McGonagall nodded to the book beside him--the one he hadn't made it to yet. "Last night I asked one of the nurses to read that book for me. It has the exact directions for making that potion..."

"Let me see?" Daphne said, and Michael let go of her hand in order to remove the giant text from his lap and reach over to get the untouched one. She flipped through the pages until she found the spell. "So it has to be made the night it's collected." She chewed on her bottom lip as she scanned over the ingredients.

"If there's no other way," Michael finally said with a sigh, "Then the Professor and I will go to talk to Emma."

"What?" Daphne asked, looking up with her eyes ablaze. "You aren't seriously considering going without me!"

"Just to talk to her, Daph... You still can't even walk," he reasoned.

"And just when is the next full moon, _Michael_?" she replied, looking rather furious.

"I don't know?"

"Saturday," McGonagall replied.

"And today is?"

"Thursday," Michael replied, then stopped. "But you _can't_, Daphne! The mediwitches said you have to be in here through Sunday. If you start walking around now, you'll cripple yourself!"

He hated it when she stared at him like that because he'd rather walk into a village full of moon-crazed werewolves than face _that._ Still, he met her eyes. Even if she wasn't backing down, he wasn't, either. Not on this.

"Didn't I _just say_ that I didn't need you to try to shelter me? I'm awake, aren't I? If I could move my legs, I could walk! Where's my wand?"

Michael had retrieved it from her robe before the staff had thrown it away. It was sitting on her nightstand, scourgified, though it still showed slight traces of a rusty reddish-brown color. Daphne didn't seem to notice, and if she did, she didn't care.

"Miss Greengrass," McGonagall said calmly. "It would be best for all of us if you remained here and continued recovering. You can't even see as well as you should be able to yet," she noted, nodding toward Daphne's eyes, which were still only partially open. "...We'll bring Matthew here. There's plenty of facilities which can take care of a transformed werewolf at St. Mungo's. In addition, we'll have the full use of their spell components, I'm sure. You just have to be ready when it happens, because we'll have to act quickly."

She glared. Merlin, did she glare. However, she wasn't snapping, and so Michael realized that her temper could go either way. On one hand, she was no longer obligated to do as McGonagall asked. On the other, it made more sense for her to stay here. "Tell her." Daphne said through clenched teeth as she looked at Michael. "Tell Emma. If there was anything else we could do, I wouldn't have suggested it."

Michael tried not to show his relief. He took her hand again, and while she tried to pull away from him, he held it. "We will. I'm sure she'd know that anyway."

McGonagall jumped off the bed, "I'll go arrange it with the hospital. You should get ready, Mr. Corner." With that, the tabby was out of the room. Michael stood up and carefully sat down on the bed beside Daphne.

"I'm sure they'd be throwing me out soon anyways," he said quietly, doing his best to not shift her too much as he took her hand in both of his. "I really thought you were going to die," he replied after a moment. "I guess it opened my eyes in some ways, and I know you don't want me to protect you, but..."

Daphne sighed. "I don't need it."

"But I want to anyways," he replied. "So... maybe if I let you protect me, then you'll let me do the same?" he offered, now offering her a faintly wry smile. Perhaps it was the familiarity of the expression, but she began to softly smile as well.

"I'll think about it."

He could hear the nurse coming down the corridor. He'd been listening for that sound the last few days, so it was rather familiar to him. Any minute, she was going to come in and scold him for exhausting Daphne so when she'd just woken up. He leaned down and gently brushed his mouth against her own before sliding off the bed and giving her hand one last squeeze.

"Don't worry. This will be simple." He released her hand as the nurse entered, and for a moment it looked like Daphne wanted to say something, but her eyes fell on the nurse, and so she remained silent.

"Good luck," she finally offered as the nurse ushered him out of the room.


	11. Unexpected Allies

Chapter Eleven 

"That's it. That's fine. You're doing fine."

Daphne wanted to tell the mediwitch helping her out of bed to kindly shut her mouth and go away. It would be much easier to get up and walk a bit if she were alone, after all, without some healer spouting empty encouragement at her.

The truth was, though, when they'd removed the hex binding her legs, she'd gotten her first good look at them... And they were black and blue. Apparently they'd been a lot worse, but she asked the nurse on duty at the time not to describe it. They still didn't look very good, though. Not at all. And now this witch wouldn't let her keep them covered. "You have to start walking," she'd said. And so now, Daphne was struggling to her feet.

"Come on. Almost there."

"It _hurts!_" Daphne snapped. Though the mediwitch continued smiling sweetly, tugging on Daphne's hand. Finally, she was standing. Unsteadily, yes, but she was standing. The feeling of weakness was overpowering and annoying, but the healer looked thrilled.

"You're doing great. Go ahead and take a couple steps."

Daphne did, hissing in pain. "Just how many times did they break?" she asked, and while the question was rather rhetorical, she got a cheery answer.

"Oh, just seven." The witch led her forward, ignoring the stunned expression on the younger girl's face. "Three in the left, two in the right. We healed 'em up well, we did."

"Good, good," Daphne managed, leaning heavily against the nightstand. She was starting to appreciate the fact that Michael and McGonagall insisted she be left behind.

"I'm going to go get a proper robe for you," the witch went on to say, leaving the room before Daphne could get across one word of protest. Wonderful. Now she was stuck in the middle of nowhere, unable to get back to her bed. Maybe if she could just...

"Well. If it isn't Daphne Greengrass," came a rather stuffy voice from the door. Daphne turned toward the speaker, and she might have even smiled if she wasn't in so much pain.

"Ernie Macmillan," she said, trying to keep the pain out of her voice and throw a bored look onto her face. The former Prefect gave her a sort of smug grin and began to swagger into the room. Only, she realised he wasn't actually sauntering along... he was limping pretty badly. He sat down in a nearby chair, trying to act as though he wasn't winded by the effort, but she could tell. As for herself, she remained where she was because she wasn't going to even try to make the humiliating trek back to her bed in front of him. "What are you doing here?"

His pompous expression slid away, and he glanced around the room for a moment--which must have been satisfactorily empty--before speaking, "I came in with a few others. We were with Harry, but we got split up."

"Who all went with him?" Daphne asked. She'd been rather curious about this for some time now. 

"Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Anthony Goldstein, Pansy Parkinson, Clare Rivers," he said, starting to count off his fingers, "Cho Chang, Dean Thomas, Zacharias, Susan, and me... But Susan and Zacharias came with me when Dean and Clare got hurt."

"Clare?" Daphne started forward, yelping when she put just a bit too much weight on her left leg. She noticed Ernie automatically stood to help, emitting a similar expression of pain as he did. After they stared at each other for a while, Ernie sat down.

"Don't worry. She's fine. Or, she will be anyway." He looked at his hands. Daphne decided she didn't really want to stand anymore, but there was still the fact that Ernie was still here. Despite everything that was going on - or maybe _because_ of it - she still didn't want him seeing that she was in a state where she couldn't help herself.

He was absently rubbing at his knee, though, glancing up at her now and then. Daphne knew that he wanted her to ask about it, and even though she really wanted to know what happened to Clare and where she was in the hospital, she had a feeling that she wouldn't get any answers until she asked Ernie what was bothering him. Maybe he just needed to talk, and she happened to be a convenient outlet. "What happened to you?"

Ernie started to explain, but he was stopped by the arrival of Susan Bones, who had in her arms a rather large potted plant. Within it was a blueish green vine-like thing with the vague appearance of a Venus flytrap... Only this one moved once in a while, it's 'face' turning this way and that as it seemed to register sounds. The other Hufflepuff said nothing, and Ernie explained. "Some Death Eaters don't really fancy killing. Odd, I know. So they disable wizards in other ways. They took out my knee, and they stole Susan's voice. We can't get it back, either. It's not just a silencing charm."

Susan freed her hands by setting the plant on the floor in front of her, and she waved.

"Anyway," Ernie said. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in an accident," Daphne replied slowly, eyeing the plant in Susan's hands. "We--Finnigan, Terry Boot, Mackenzie Spinks, Hermione and I--"

"Hermione's alive!" Ernie exclaimed, nearly jumping up, except for the fact that the movement obviously was terribly painful.

"Yes, she is. She's with Professor Lupin right now... Everyone went with them except Michael and I."

"So Corner's still alive, too, then?"

"You didn't know?" Daphne replied, looking a little surprised.

"When you two didn't come back from your patrol, and then with the attack..." Ernie shook his head, but he looked apologetic.

"Is Anthony still alive?" Daphne asked after a moment.

Ernie nodded. "But continue your story."

She inwardly thanked whatever gods there might have been for that much. "We were looking up a charm to block the Imperius Curse in the Hogwarts library, but I wandered off, and basically Gryffindor Tower fell on me. What's with the plant?"

Susan and Ernie both looked at the plant, then at each other. Daphne got the distinct impression that the plant didn't look very amused. Of course, that really couldn't be, since plants, unlike people and animals, didn't have feelings. This one, however... Well, it seemed to have been listening to their conversation. In fact, it also winced when Daphne mentioned that the tower had fallen on her. She was sure of it.

"You do remember how we said that some of the Death Eaters are finding other ways to disable people," Ernie said, and Daphne nodded. "Well, they're quite fond of transfiguration, it seems. You know, turn someone into a frog so that they can't attack..."

The plant 'looked' at Ernie, which was odd because it had no eyes. It seemed to be rather upset.

"In any case... Well, you see..."

Susan elbowed him.

He sighed, nodding to the plant. "That's Clare."

Daphne stared openly at the plant who did, after a while of embarrassed silence, wave a leaf at her. "Clare...? Yeah... Uh. They trapped Professor McGonagall as a cat, too."

"Oh, but she got him good," Ernie continued almost proudly... And Daphne swore the plant that was Clare straightened a bit. "Apparently he didn't realize that Clare's poisonous like that. She bit him. Last we saw, he had these horrible purple splotches all over, but I think he'll be all right. It's too bad, too. Anyway, one of the healers told us to come see you. He told us you were making a restorative potion for someone else - I'll guess that's the professor - and... We'll need it for Clare."

"Of course," Daphne replied, looking at the plant, and wishing she could just get close enough to something to sit down. Her legs were starting to ache terribly, and she wasn't sure how much longer she would be able to hold herself up. Where were her nurses at a time like this? Wasn't this some sort of unnecessary risk leaving her stranded like this. However, at that moment, the mediwitch reappeared.

"Oh, you poor dear, having to stand like that! Let me help you get back in bed." And it was a testimony to how much Daphne did hurt that she allowed the nurse to help get her back up on the hospital bed. That done, Susan came over to sit in the chair Michael had previously occupied, holding Clare on her lap.

The nurse tsk'd to herself. "I forgot something, but I'll be right back."

"Professor McGonagall knew of a potion," Daphne said after a moment, figuring she might as well explain the circumstances. "But it involves werewolf saliva. Fortunately, we knew were to get some, so Michael is out doing that now."

"Alone?" Ernie said, eyes widening.

"Well, the Professor is with him."

Even Clare the plant seemed incredulous at this bit of information, and it all rather annoyed Daphne. Michael wasn't some sort of idiot, after all. It wasn't even the full moon yet, and so it should have been rather easy for him. Seeing her expression, Susan smiled apologetically and shook her head. Ernie didn't seem to notice this, instead pondering something else.

"Do you know where Potter went?" Daphne asked after a minute.

"No," Ernie replied quietly, almost sounding sad.

Daphne looked at Susan, who was shaking her head, and at Clare as well, who didn't seem to know anything, either. She never wanted to find Potter so much as she did now. For some reason, it seemed important that they get to him. She hated it when everything seemed impossible. The only hope they had now was that McGonagall would be able to find Dumbledore and Harry when she was back to herself. She stared for a while at the plant again, who looked back at her almost defiantly. Clare never was one to be easily embarrassed, though it had to be awfully difficult being a plant.

Remembering something, Daphne asked, "What happened to Thomas?"

"He got cut up a bit," Ernie replied. "It was that magic arrow charm. It's a good thing his attacker was a bad aim. I think Susan and I got out of there with the least of it. Parkinson suffered the Cruciatus Curse, but she said she didn't want to be in a hospital with a bunch of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. Maybe she would have come if she knew you were alive."

"Maybe," Daphne said. Honestly, that might not have been the case, since she and Pansy were never particularly close. Clare was, however, one of her best friends, and she'd love to be able to talk with her right now... Except for the fact that the conversation would be awfully one-sided.

The nurse returned then with her wand, and, despite Daphne's protests, locked her legs again. She claimed it was far more than enough exercise for now, and if she wanted to make a potion tomorrow, she'd have to rest up a couple hours before trying to walk again. The nurse then shooed Ernie and Susan out of the room... But Susan left Clare on the nightstand before she left.

After an uncomfortable silence, Daphne said, "...So."

The plant rustled slightly, but what that meant, Daphne couldn't even begin to say. Still, she felt sort of alienated sitting alone in the hospital, so even a one-sided conversation was better than nothing.

"How about I ask you yes or no questions, and if it's yes, you can shake your leaf once, and if it's no then twice?"

The plant shook its leaf once, so Daphne took that for acquiescence.

"So no one who went with Potter is dead, right?"

One shake.

"Did you find Draco?"

Two shakes.

"Weasley?"

Two shakes.

"I guess you must have gotten cut off from Potter at some point…"

One shake.

Daphne contemplated this for a moment. True they were in rough times, but it seemed a little severe for Potter to just leave anyone behind. Then again, it's possible that not everyone was able to accurately follow him from the beginning. Since Clare couldn't talk, she couldn't ask her what the circumstances were, but it seemed that time was getting shorter… If Potter really was leaving people behind.

"Do you know if Draco or Weasley are still alive?"

One shake.

ARGH! She'd sort of hoped it would be two, just because now she wanted to know the details which Clare, of course wouldn't be able to tell her. She'd have to think of a way to ask through questions to find out. Then again… There was something else she was a little concerned about, and since Clare had taken Divination… she might know a few things. Only that, too, required a certain amount of vocabulary that her friend-turned-plant could not achieve. She chewed on her bottom lip as she tried to decide what to ask next.

"So... They _are_ alive," Daphne asked again, and Clare shook _all_ of her leaves once. She was getting annoyed... Had the situation not been so dire, that almost would have been amusing. Apparently Clare didn't like repeating herself, even as a poisonous plant. "Maybe I should ask you more about this when you can talk. It'll just be another night."

One shake.

Again, the silence. There was just the smallest of rustling sounds as the plant looked around the hospital room. Daphne lowered herself down until she was prone again, folding her arms behind her head... Which still felt a little bruised. Turning a bit so she could still see Clare, she asked, "So, beside what happened, you're okay?"

One shake. And then the leaf gestured toward Daphne almost instantly. It was asking her the same question.

"My legs were broken," she explained. "But I should be fine."

The plant looked at her expectantly, but when Daphne didn't ask anymore questions, Clare looked almost disappointed. Then, if it was even possible for greenery to brighten, she did so. The leaf shook, not once or twice, but seven times. There was a break, then she shook it twelve times. Then once.

Seven... Twelve... Yes? No! One! Seven, Twelve, One! G-L-A. She was spelling something.

Four times. D.

She went on to spell 'Glad you're alive.'

Michael, Matthew, and McGonagall returned shortly after lunch while Daphne was napping. Given that it was Friday, they still had a little time before the full moon appeared. The mediwitches were off trying to secure a dosage of wolfsbane, because it would be far easier to extract saliva from a sleepy werewolf than from a wild awake and agitated one, even if it was a little boy. Matthew was carrying McGonagall around similar to the fashion he'd previously been holding his teddy. She seemed to be submitting to her fate at present, looking a little discontent, but not complaining. The boy cautiously sat at a chair beside Daphne's bed. A nurse had also given him a children's book to read, and so holding McGonagall on his lap, the boy opened the book and began perusing the brightly illustrated pages.

Michael sat down on the edge of the bed and brushed her hair aside, which woke her up. She blinked up at him uncertainly for a moment before smiling groggily. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you up," he murmured, withdrawing his hand, and she tried to roll onto her side, only her legs were locked in place. She sighed irritably at that, resigning herself to her current position which was getting a bit uncomfortable. Michael seemed to take that as something directed at himself, and so he slipped off the bed and into the chair beside Matthew. "Nice plant," he muttered, glancing at the new edition to the room who seemed to bristle at the comment.

"Yeah… Er, well, I'll have to tell you about that in a minute, but first tell me how it went."

"It was fine. Emma said it would be good for him to get out… We've sort of promised to take him on a tour of Diagon Alley before returning him… Hope you don't mind."

"I want to get a canary cream," the boy piped up, not looking up from his book.

"So it went without a hitch?"

"Well, she wasn't too fond of the idea at first, but McGonagall explained it to her pretty well, and so she decided we could do it as long as we did her that one favour."

"That's not too bad," Daphne agreed, twisting a lock of her hair. She wasn't a big fan of kids, but if all they had to do was take him out for a single day… Well, that wasn't so bad at all, though it did assumably delay things a bit.

"Now, explain the plant."

She looked at Clare. Already, Daphne was learning a bit more about how to read her feelings, and she definitely didn't look happy. In fact, it seemed as if anyone went near her at that point in time, she'd reward them with a rather nasty bite. However, no one was near enough to the plant to suffer her wrath...

Again, Daphne sighed. "Ernie Macmillan and Susan Bones were here earlier. Brought the plant with them." The plant rustled again when Daphne mentioned it, though she didn't pay it any attention. Instead, she went on to explain what she'd heard about Potter and You-Know-Who, which actually wasn't very much, all things considered. Still, it was more than they knew before.

"Apparently," Daphne went on, "Some Death Eaters don't like killing things. So instead, they'll use transfiguration as a weapon. That plant is Clare Rivers."

Michael, Matthew, and McGonagall were staring at the plant, who was making a very valiant effort to stretch itself close enough to Daphne's bed so she could bite her. However, It was Matthew that got up and approached the plant first before anyone could stop him, with McGonagall trailing along at his heels. Michael reached out, but after an angry 'glare' from the plant, he drew back his hand.

Clare stared off with the little boy for a while before Matthew said, "It's okay, Clare Rivers. I'm here to help you."

Daphne was a bit amazed at the child's perception and his ability to calmly accept the supernatural even if he was a Muggle. He probably barely understood what happened to him every month as it was, and here he was, talking to a plant as if this were just a normal thing to do. After a while, Clare waved a leaf at him, which didn't really indicate much. Daphne tried to translate, though. "She says 'thanks.'"

"This is just getting weird," Michael muttered, rubbing at his temples as Matthew returned to his chair and his book. McGonagall leapt up onto his lap again. At least Clare seemed to be, for the moment, not as violent.

It was a few minutes later that the nurse returned and shooed everyone out of the room again, because it was time for Daphne to relearn how to walk.


	12. Michael Versus the Werewolf and Snape

Chapter Twelve 

Despite the fact that Daphne had worked rather diligently in the last twenty-four hours to be able to move around again, it still wasn't good enough for her to be able to accompany Michael and the mediwitches at the task of collecting Matthew's saliva. Saturday night found Michael standing with two men and a young nurse outside the room specially prepared for the boy. McGonagall and Daphne were waiting in a small laboratory--or what was essentially such--starting the potion that would be completed with the saliva.

At first, the mediwitches had not thought it wise for Michael to help in this endeavour, but with McGonagall's help, they'd finally agreed that it would be best if he was there to help take the sample. Just inside the room was a special bed for Matthew and a solitary window which had begun to shine with moonlight several hours ago. They'd all heard the transformation... And to Michael, at least, it had sounded painful. It didn't seem fair that such could happen to a _kid_... but there was no way to fix it.

Shortly after that, they heard the sounds of Matthew snuffling around, and then settling down on the pallet prepared for him. Michael rubbed his bare arm nervously. The plan was for the mediwizard in the special armour to go in first and muzzle Matthew just in case. Then the others would collect the saliva, Matthew would be freed to sleep off his transformation, and Michael would run off to find Daphne and complete the potion.

That was the plan.

Then again, the best plans are often the first to fail. At least that was Michael's motto.

"He's only had one dose of the wolfsbane potion," one of the Healers was saying. "So while he's probably not as wild as he could be, he's definitely not all there."

Michael remembered explaining the plan to Matthew earlier in the day while the little boy was valiantly trying to finish what was obviously a disgusting potion. During that time, Matthew said he really did like McGonagall the Cat, but he really didn't think it was fair that a person had to spend their life as a plant. The kid was just barely four years old, though, so Michael honestly wondered how much he could possibly get. Would he on some level understand why someone was coming into his little room to muzzle him?

The Mediwizard opened the door to the room, and Michael caught the barest glance of the puppy - and he did look just like a little brown puppy - before the door was closed again. It was the first time Michael had ever seen a transformed werewolf, and he'd expected it to be a lot uglier. Matthew, however, was actually sort of cute.

Cute, but dangerous.

There was a sharp growl in the room, but a moment later, the armored mediwizard returned and nodded. "It's done. A lot calmer n' I thought he'd be, but he still doesn't like anyone touchin' him."

"We'll give him a few minutes," the other wizard said to Michael and the nurse. Then they listened for a while as the young werewolf attempted to remove the magically-sealed muzzle. Hopefully it would hold... But, Michael told himself, something _had_ to go wrong.

After a moment, there was a soft whimper, a snort, and then the sounds of the pup curling back up. They waited another minute for the sounds of snores which had previously indicated the level of calm of the young boy. When they finally heard the deep, quiet breathing from the other side of the door, the man with the armor waved them through.

"Just one for now, all right?" the man said, barring the other two after Michael stepped through. "He might get upset if there's too many people in the room, and we want this to be as painless as possible."

Michael wasn't overly fond of this plan, but it seemed that the man knew what he was doing, so Michael very cautiously stepped into the room and listened to the door click behind him. He gulped. He was never a big fan of magical creatures, especially not the sort that could rip you limb from limb or cause you to transform into what was essentially a monster... even if the one before them did look sort of like a fluffy German Shepherd puppy. 

The man with him said nothing, but slowly gestured that they should move forward, so very cautiously, Michael did. As they drew nearer, Matthew's eyes slit open. Michael paused, as did the mediwizard with him, and after a moment, Matthew's eyes closed again. It seemed the boy was rather drugged up at the moment and thus having a hard time staying away. Which is why Michael was thoroughly unprepared for what happened next because as he took another step forward, Matthew was wide awake, and the muzzle had snapped.

Michael didn't really think. He just shut his eyes, feeling a hot line of sticky saliva hit his cheek as the boy surged forward, sounding as vicious as any creature he'd ever encountered, including his neighbors horrible rottweilers that had chased him as a child. Just as he was sure he'd be feeling sharp fangs in his body, he opened his eyes to see the man in the armor grasping the struggling brown body only a metre away.

"Get out!"

Michael didn't need to be told twice. He ran, nearly running into the door before he remembered he had to _open it._ Wrenching the doorhandle down, the Ravenclaw bolted from the room, shutting the door behind him. The armored wizard could deal with Matthew right now. Cute kid, deadly puppy.

He stood there shaking and was approached by the nurse with the vial, who, noting the drool on Michael's face, took it upon herself to collect it. There was enough there to fill the vial just about three quarters full, which was just a little more than they needed for the potion. The other wizard grabbed a towel from a nearby cart and dried the rest.

"They're just down the hall and to the left," The nurse said, handing Michael the now-stoppered vial. He took it, staring at it rather blankly. It didn't look like anything special, and he'd almost gotten killed for it. Or worse.

The nurse gave him a shove. "The light's on. There's not a lot of time left. Go on."

There would be time to think about that near miss later, and so he shoved it to the back of his mind. After finally managing to force his feet to move him, he heard the mediwizard finally make it out of the room, cursing and remarking on how smart Matthew was for such a young one, and a Muggle, too.

He rather shakily made his way to the room McGonagall and Daphne were stationed at. It was sort of an odd thought to realise he'd just nearly died. It was probably the closest he'd ever come to such. He must have looked a little funny when he stepped in the door, because Daphne immediately attempted to rush over to him, only she couldn't, instead having to catch herself on the table in the center of the room, gasping. Thus it was that he hurried over to her.

"Don't hurt yourself," he muttered, trying to right her, but she pushed him off.

"'m fine," she muttered. "But what about you?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Shaken, but all right," he added with a tight smile, handing her the vial. She looked at him again, critically, but seeing as he wasn't rent in any fashion--just pale and trembling--she seemed to decide that he was fine. She took the vial and hobbled over to a nearby cauldron by which Clare and McGonagall were waiting expectantly. 

"Now what?" Michael asked, following after her not looking as though he was any more steady on his feet. He leaned heavily on the counter as Daphne leaned over the cauldron and began to carefully mete out the potion into a measuring spoon. He distractedly rubbed at his cheek where the saliva had been.

Daphne was working now, though. He could see that... And she didn't bother to answer him at first. After she'd measured the potion out one spoonful at a time, though - half into a bowl, and half into a pitcher - she responded. "Now they take it. They should change back in the morning when the sun rises." She looked at McGonagall, who was already eying the potion in the bowl.

"It looks right. It's the right color and consistency. You both did well, I'm sure."

Michael wondered if she was trying to convince _herself_ of that as well. Daphne placed the bowl in front of their former teacher, though, and McGonagall sniffed at it for a moment before she drank it. The smell really was terrible, and it was impossible to imagine anyone willingly ingesting it, but when you didn't have a choice...

Daphne looked to Clare, then, who was hunkered down in the flowerpot a bit. Was Rivers actually nervous? Michael couldn't remember the girl being anything other than cold, though he knew that Daphne considered her as somewhat of a best friend. "I'll have to pour it into your roots," Daphne told the plant, who moved her leaves so that Daphne could reach the dirt. Michael wondered if she could actually taste it. After all, the plant-Clare seemed to be able to see without eyes and hear without ears... Apparently she could taste the horrid-smelling potion on some level, though, because she shuddered horribly as Daphne finished.

This done, Daphne practically collapsed into a nearby chair to rest her legs. Michael sat down next to her, and was about to compliment her on getting it all done and whatnot when she surprised him by wrapping her arms around him.

It was surprising, because Daphne rarely made the first move, but not unwanted. He sort of felt he must have deserved it on some level considering he was almost eaten by an kindergartener werewolf. He wrapped one arm lazily around her and leaned in just slightly. Thinking one was about to die was rather exhausting, at least in the aftermath.

"You okay?" he asked after a moment. She nodded silently, but didn't draw away. On the table, McGonagall had curled up and appeared to be dropping off into feline REM, her tail twitching at random. Clare the plant shuffled quietly, but she, too, seemed to be content to silently rest for a moment.

He leaned his cheek against the top of Daphne's head. Her hair felt warm and a little prickly, but still nice and smooth. He thought for a moment that he could probably fall asleep like that, except after a moment, she spoke.

"Did you ever think you'd be saving the world with an evil Slytherin, a cat, a werewolf, and a plant?"

He chuckled. "We're not saving the world."

"We are if the professor can find Potter and Dumbledore," she replied, finally letting go of Michael and just continuing to lean on him.

"So you're a fan of Potter, then?"

"I'm a fan of about anyone that can get rid of You-Know-Who."

Michael couldn't argue that. And since everyone seemed to think Harry Potter was their finest hope of survival, he supposed he was a fan, too. Not that he'd readily admit that, but if it meant getting rid of the Dark Lord...

It was getting rather late, and the room was warm from the dying fire under the cauldron. Michael was sure Daphne drifted off, and as the adrenaline rush from dealing with the werewolf pup diminished, he, too, fell asleep. For once, he didn't dream at all, which was nice because he needed the rest. However, he had a rather unpleasant awakening a few hours later.

It couldn't have been too late... Maybe one or two in the morning, and it was in part because he'd only been asleep a couple of hours that it was so hard to wake up. He blinked a few times, his eyes stinging, and suddenly realised Severus Snape was standing by the table near the sleeping plant!Clare and cat!McGonagall. Severus Snape who'd be in on the attack that finally knocked down Hogwarts... A moment later the words "Death Eater" clicked into place, and Michael suddenly found himself very much so awake, though it seemed Daphne was not.

Even the D.A. hadn't much prepared him for this. He was the alone wakeful presence in a room with a Death Eater two decades his senior. That was two decades of murder and mayhem that Michael probably couldn't even fathom if he tried... He carefully slid out from under Daphne. She made a very soft noise of discontent, but luckily it was quiet enough that it didn't alert Snape whose back was presently to them. 

His heart was beating so fast it hurt, made him feel sort of suffocated. He wondered if he wasn't just going to have a heart attack then and there. Was this what Potter went through all the time? How could he even stand it? It was nauseating. Yet somehow, his hand managed to find its way to his back pocket and pull out his wand and even point it at Snape. He gulped sharply, wondering if he should kiss Daphne good-bye first, and spoke in a rather shaky voice.

"What are you doing here?"

Snape turned around, stared at Michael for a while, and then turned back to the table. Perhaps he was biding his time. He thought he had all the time in the world to kill them all because Severus Snape thought that Michael wouldn't fight! Well...

He was right.

He stood there frozen, wand still pointed at their former potions professor for the longest time before Snape spoke. "Put that away, Corner."

It was by sheer force of willpower that Michael kept his arm up. He kept telling himself that he was no longer obligated to listen to their former professor, and he certainly didn't have to listen to a traitor.

"This is passable," Snape went on, looking into the Cauldron. "I assume, of course, that the dose was given while it was still warm. Who made it?" He turned around again, looking past Michael to Daphne, who was still asleep.

"Sh-- she did," Michael said quietly, trying to get himself between Snape and Daphne. It didn't work too well, because his feet didn't want to move.

"Thank Merlin you didn't have a hand in it," He finished, turning back to the Cauldron. "You can relax, Corner. I'm not here to kill you. Seems like everyone is up in arms about everything lately. Wouldn't you agree?"

"What do you want?" Michael asked, somewhat encouraged by the fact that he was still alive.

He didn't think Snape would answer him. He thought that he would probably throw up just standing there with his arm still outstretched, and his hand obviously shaking around his wand. Snape looked at him with annoyance, and then began to inspect the plant. Michael lowered his wand fractionally, and Snape finally deigned to speak to him, turning from the plant with a strangely smug and yet terribly irritated look.

"I am here, Mr. Corner, because I heard that there were two fools at St. Mungo's attempting to restore a cat and a plant."

Word obviously travelled fast.

"And given that Miss River is my former student, and Professor McGonagall my colleague, I decided to make sure those two did not end up killing anyone or themselves."

Michael lowered his wand completely, blinking at Snape, because it didn't make a bit of sense why Snape of all people--who was now known to Michael as a Death Eater--would come to check on McGonagall and Clare with the intent to not kill them, unless...

"You're not taking them anywhere," he blurted out, wand raised again, though his treacherous hand was still trembling.

"Mr. Corner, if you please. Lower your wand, or I shall be forced to lower it for you. I have no need to tell you or Miss Greengrass why I am here. It's better that you not know, but I have my reasons. If you're not too much of a simpleton, I'd like for you to give Minerva this note. Read it, and you shall find yourself the victim of a rather nasty hex."

Michael blinked and put his wand away, reaching out to take the rolled up parchment. It buzzed with a sort of static energy that made the hairs on Michael's arm raise. Yes, there was definitely a powerful hex on that letter. He bit his bottom lip, then looked back up at their professor.

"You... you were in on it," he said quietly and behind him he could hear Daphne stirring. "You must know where they took Weasley and Malfoy... You have to know why all the professors just abandoned us," he continued, his voice rising as the injustice became clearer in his mind. "Where the bloody hell did they all go?" he snarled, and he could hear Daphne gasp softly behind him.

Snape, however, remained maddeningly calm and didn't look the least apologetic. "You will stifle yourself, Corner. I have no desire to explain my presense to another student."

Michael noticed that the cat, too, was stirring a bit, though she didn't awaken. That was odd... Unless the Wolfsbane potion used to calm Matthew was also affecting Clare and Professor McGonagall. Not that they could really do anything if they woke up, but he really could use a little support.

There was a flicker of something across Snape's face that wasn't really anything except the twitch of a muscle. "Some of them didn't make it out of the attack. Others followed Potter on his fool suicide quest. One was incapacitated." He looked back at McGonagall.

"Who... Who went with Potter?" Michael asked, instead of asking 'who died?'

Snape paused, contemplating the question and whether or not he should answer it. Eventually, he said, "Professors Hagrid, Flitwick and Sprout. Professor Trelawney has been missing, and I know nothing of Firenze."

"Why did they leave?"

"You left," Snape observed, "Because your hope rested elsewhere. Why shouldn't they do the same?"

"But we only left after we knew everyone was...!" He felt a tug on the back of his pants leg, and turned to Daphne who was shaking her head, indicating that he should drop it. He stared angrily at their former professor for another moment before dropping his hands to his sides and relenting. Snape was obviously not going to tell them anything, and the more Michael provoked him, the more likely he was to be hexed. Given that Snape was a Death Eater, Michael figured he was lucky to not be dead for saying as much as he did.

"Give the letter to McGonagall. If she deems it worthy to inform you of its contents, then so be it, but I must go now," the bat-like man said, sneering down his long nose at Michael and Daphne.

"Professor," Daphne said softly.

He paused in his billowing path to the door, but didn't turn around. "Yes, Miss Greengrass?"

"Thank you," she mumbled.

He didn't reply, just whisking out of the room. Michael glared furiously after him.

"That... that bastard!" he said through gritted teeth, his hand curling roughly around the letter which let out a little electrical shock. "Ouch," he muttered, loosening his grip. Still not looking at Daphne, instead staring heatedly at the closed door, he spoke again, "We should read it."

She stood up rather painfully and looked at the note all rolled up and sealed in his hand. When Daphne reached for it, he thought she might be in agreement with him and that she might look for a way to remove the hex. However, once she had, it, she put it into her pocket and shook her head. "No. Bad idea."

"But-- Daph--"

She shook her head again. "I can't say I entirely trust him, but you're still alive, aren't you?"

"Look. I just..."

Her hand was suddenly wrapped around his chin as she forced him to look her in the eye. He knew he could have easily pulled away, but she seemed so adamant, so he didn't. "How did you feel..." she started, "When you figured out I'd fallen through the Gryffindor Tower?"

"I-- Oh." 

"Right. You're stupid if you think I'm going to let you hurt yourself." She smiled, patting her pocket. "I'm guessing it's for McGonagall."

Michael turned to the cat who was, miraculously, still asleep. Hopefully there wasn't anything wrong, though surely Snape would have been able to tell them if there was!

Maybe he'd poisoned them! No, the cat looked too peaceful, and Clare was rustling slightly.

Daphne continued. "Why don't we try to get a little more sleep?"

He nodded. There was nothing else to do, so despite the fact that he was still much too angry to even contemplate sleeping, he knew when to cave in to Daphne. He let her pull him back down into the chair beside her, and as if sensing his reticence, she decided to give him a bit of incentive. She pulled him a little closer, putting his arm around her shoulders and laying her head on his shoulder.

"Night, Mikey," she said, forcefully closing her eyes. He sighed. No way he could argue with that. He squeezed her shoulder with the hand draped around it and stared at the ceiling, counting the tiles until he, too, drifted off into restless but not very spectacular sleep.


	13. Back to Normal

**Chapter Thirteen**

She must have been awfully tired, because she slept right through the rest of the night. In fact, she slept right through the sunrise, too, and she didn't witness the fact that the potion she'd made was quite successful.

In fact, Daphne didn't wake up until she felt someone poking her shoulder. It was annoying, but when she opened her eyes to see a rather severe Clare standing there staring back at her, she smiled.

The other Slytherin had already seen her share of the fight with several scratches on her face that were already partially healed, though she didn't look too worse for wear. Her black hair was a bit tangled, of course, but that wasn't any real cause for alarm. When she was satisfied that Daphne was awake, she stepped back, giving her friend room to stand. 

Daphne was getting rather tired of climbing to her feet, but it was easier this morning. The pain and stiffness was still there, especially in her right leg, though she did her best not to favor either of them. "Clare--" She started.

But the other girl grabbed her shoulders and gave them a good shake, and Daphne responded with wide-eyed surprise. "If you _ever_ give me reason to think you're dead again," Clare began, then proceeded to leave the threat open as she wrapped Daphne in a tight embrace. This was quite odd for Clare, considering the other Slytherin never had been exceptionally affectionate. "...Just don't, okay?"

When she was finally released, she could see Professor McGonagall, now herself again, standing there with her arms crossed. Daphne reached down and shook Michael.

He grumbled and tried to bat her hand away, but she persisted. For one thing, he looked rather uncomfortable in the odd position he'd found himself in--one arm fallen behind the chair she'd been residing in, and his face resting on that. She figured he must have lost all feeling in that arm by now. She shook him a little harder, and he cracked one eye open and groaned.

"Five more minutes," he mumbled.

"Sorry, darling," Daphne said in a terribly falsetto voice, "but the pancakes are getting cold."

His eye slit open again. "I haven't had pancakes in four months," he muttered. This was punctuated with his stomach growling softly, which Daphne couldn't help but chuckle at. Clare, too, looked a little amused, even. He slid into a more upright position and finally stretched and stood.

"Looks like it worked," he said ever so observantly as he looked Clare up and down, and Daphne had to grab her arm as the look on her face turned absolutely poisonous.

"Mr. Corner, do compose yourself," McGonagall said sternly.

Daphne smirked to herself as he flushed and tried to fix his hair, noticing their former professor for the first time.

"Oh, Professor, this is for you," she said, fumbling around in the pockets of her robes for Snape's note. Finding it, she waited for the professor to walk over and take it. McGonagall undid the seal and unfolded it, her eyes skimming quickly down the page. Daphne wanted to ask her what it said, but she held her tongue. She wasn't on buddy-buddy terms with McGonagall even with all they'd been through together. Michael, too, looked uneasy now that it was daytime and there wasn't a Death Eater in the room to shout at, but the look on his face screamed that he was doing everything he could to not ask. It was Clare who broke the silence.

"Who's that from?"

"Professor Snape delivered it last night," Michael said with such bitterness that it surprised even Daphne. 

McGonagall continued reading it, and while her face was almost as impassive as Snape's, there were times that she smiled and times where she frowned.

"I can't tell you who it's from specifically," the professor said. "However, I can tell you that while things aren't looking exceptionally good, they aren't looking _bad,_ either. I know it's not a lot, but hopefully it is, at least, encouraging."

"I honestly can't believe it took you two this long to fix things," Clare grumbled at Michael and Daphne as she plopped down into one of the chairs. Daphne noted that the flowerpot she'd been in was very badly broken and the terra cotta strewn across the room as if it had been kicked or thrown. That, however, was Clare for you.

"Hey, we did our best," Daphne said before Michael could say anything to get himself slugged. To this, Clare said nothing, but she crossed her arms and looked away.

McGonagall stepped forward, rolling up the parchment and holding it in two hands. "Is there anything you'd like to tell us, Miss Rivers?"

"Do you want to know why everyone left without sticking around to look for survivors?" she snapped. "Do you want to know why Potter got together everyone he could and just took off like he did? I was there. It was horrible."

Daphne and Michael were watching her, waiting for her to continue. But McGonagall shook her head, interrupting. "The loss of Free Will. It's all here in the letter. It's in Voldemort's--" Everyone shuddered, though less so than they might have a year prior-- "power to use a gathering of witches and wizards as a channel to... broadcast a spell so powerful that it would destroy the ability of a wizard to decide things on his own."

"He'd kill anyone that wasn't a Pureblood," Clare added. "Millions of them. Using puppets. You see why it was so important that we didn't waste any time."

Daphne stared. She felt so helpless... Should He be successful in casting that spell, she'd become a weapon. Unable to stop herself from killing... Perhaps Half-bloods like Clare and Michael. "Professor," she asked weakly. "Is there any good news in that letter?"

"They found some of the others," McGonagall replied, her mouth looking painfully stiff as she said it. Whether she was trying not to frown or not to smile, Daphne couldn't say for sure.

"Who?" Michael immediately asked, and he was chorused by Clare, who was also looking very concerned for the legendary Queen of Frostbite.

McGonagall looked at both of them with a frown, silently telling them to control themselves before she continued. "As you well know, Mr. Smith, Mr. Macmillan, Miss Bones, and Mr. Thomas are here with us now. Miss Granger, Mr. Boot, Miss Spinks, and Mr. Finnigan are with Professor Lupin and several other highly capable adults. The younger survivors that you two," she said, gesturing to Michael and Daphne, "brought in are now in a hideaway house. They are, suffice to say, perfectly safe for now."

"What about Cho and Anthony?" Michael interjected again, the look on his face starting to fall into desperation, and Daphne decided that he must have been starting to have a bit too much anxiety, because he usually wasn't _this_ excitable.

"What about Pansy and Draco?" Clare added, also looking uncharacteristically upset.

"If you will all just silence yourselves for a moment," McGonagall replied, looking annoyed. Her glasses were slipping down slightly. "It seems that within the last twenty-four hours Miss Weasley, Miss Lovegood, Mr. Goldstein, and Mr. Potter have been seen outside of Cornwall."

"But what about Cho?" Michael nearly shouted.

McGonagall gave him a cold look that would even put Clare to shame. "Cho Chang and Pansy Parkinson have not been seen lately, but I advise you, Mr. Corner, to control your temper and do your best to not assume the worst. It's possible that like Mr. Macmillan found himself a week ago, they've been momentarily separated."

"That's right," Clare said quietly. "Macmillan, Weasley, and Lovegood all got separated from us... Somehow Potter managed to contact Weasley. He had... a shard of mirror. That's how they found us again, and that's when we ran into the Death Eaters..." she trailed off.

"So, they're chasing You-Know-Who around the entirety of the British isles trying to keep Him from casting the Free Will spell?" Daphne surmised.

Clare nodded. "It's like... It's like he was playing a game with us... With Potter. I think that perhaps he was planning on separating us, but I don't know why."

"Does it really matter what this plan or that is?" Daphne said and all eyes turned to her. "He's going to end up killing us all. That's what's important, aye? So we should focus on the bigger things first instead of the details. Perhaps we can find a pattern in their movements."

"This isn't a time to panic, Miss Greengrass," McGonagall reminded her calmly.

"I'm not. I'm not. It just seems like there's a pattern. I mean, Macmillan's said that some of the Death Eaters are taking to leaving people unable to cast magic, but alive. So... do you suppose He is... Saving them for later?"

"It could be. But you'd think they'd pick something other than a bloody plant," replied Clare.

"It's actually perfect if you think about it," Michael said, and Clare rolled her eyes at him. "They'd know exactly where you were. That Death Eater didn't count on you poisoning him, though, so he was probably under the weather a bit."

"Was Susan silenced before or after you were changed?" Daphne asked

"After. But I don't see--" Clare trailed off as Daphne shook her head.

"I'm trying to figure out if She's a Half-blood or a Pure-blood."

Michael and Clare both shot their mutual friend a Look, seemed to realize they were actually agreeing together on the fact that Daphne was nutters, and hastily looked away.

"I don't see any reason to bring Blood into it," Clare muttered.

"No, no, just listen, you two," Daphne said with an exasperated sigh. "The only two who were substantially altered or hurt were Clare who's a Half-blood and Dean Thomas... Also a Half-blood."

"But Bones can't speak!" Clare replied irritably. "What good is she as a witch if she can't talk to do spells?"

"I'm sure whoever cast it on her knew how to remove it, too," Daphne replied darkly. "Not only that, but they left Granger for dead, too, and you know she's..." She almost said Mudblood. Somethings, even in times such as they were in, were hard to forget not to do.

"Right, so what about Smith? He's a Half-blood, isn't he?" Michael asked, looking at her disbelievingly.

"I can't say I know exactly what they were planning. They might have planned to incapacitate him, too, but ran out of time. At present Potter's got Chang who's a Pure-blood and Weasley, too... I don't know about Lovegood, but I seem to recall she's a Pure-blood..."

"Anthony's not," Michael added quietly.

"Pansy is," Clare murmured.

"Not only that, but the two that were kidnapped were Draco and Ronald Weasley... Both Pure-blood sons."

Michael and Clare said nothing, both seeming to be very interested in the floor.

"It stands to reason that there _is_ a pattern behind this."

McGonagall almost smiled at Daphne, her mouth twitching slightly, but she never made it all the way there. "Excellent reasoning, Miss Greengrass."

Oddly enough, Daphne didn't feel too thrilled about her assessment. At one point in her life, Blood really did mean everything. It was a question of status; a natural state dating back farther than anyone could possibly remember. How it had come to pass that her two best friends were both Half-bloods, she couldn't recall. However, she hated the fact that what she was saying seemed to be hurting them, and she had no idea what to say to make it better.

Finally, she settled on, "I'm not going to let anything happen to either of you." ...She hoped that sounded final.

She didn't know if her words quite had the intended effect, but it seemed to shake everyone out of their silence. Michael seemed to accept the fact that less-than-Pure-bloods were being targeted, because the first thing he said was "Anthony's still out there then."

"And others," Clare added, though by now it seemed like everyone was so scattered, no one knew who was still in the fight and who was out of it.

"Keep in mind," McGonagall offered (And Daphne got the feeling that what they were saying was all rather redundant for their former professor), "that they are merely incapacitating these wizards. After the initial attack, there haven't been any killings." 

Daphne nodded, but it didn't seem to mean anything to her. Then Michael practically shouted, "Finnigan is a Half-blood. They cast the Imperius curse on him instead of Terry."

"That doesn't make any sense, though," Clare said. "Because everyone knows that Potter's a Half-blood, and he can throw off the Imperius Curse."

"The question, then," McGonagall noted, "Is what does He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named plan to do with the Half-bloods and Muggleborns?" They all looked at her for a moment, and she again offered what might have been a smile but probably wasn't. She held up the letter. "Well, I can't tell you everything that's in here. But if you figure it out on your own, it's not really my problem, is it?"

"This is probably the first and the last time you'll ever hear me say this," Michael said, running a hand through his hair and grinning wryly. "But… I don't feel like thinking about it. Right now, we promised a kid who's just had a rough night canary creams in Diagon Alley. I think it's time we fulfill our end of the bargain."

Daphne couldn't help but feel a little relieved that someone had made the suggestion. She was too tired to really want to come up with theories on what He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wanted with her friends. Even if she didn't like kids much, they still owed Emma and Matthew this much. "Yeah, let's go see him now."

Clare raised an eyebrow and shook her head. "No thanks. I'll stick around here for the meantime. There are still too many loose ends," she added, implying just how foolish she thought it was to take a walk for fun down Diagon Alley now. However, Daphne and Michael ignored her, shrugging.

"If I hear anything that I can tell you, I'll let you know," McGonagall said. "For now. I believe I will check on my other students." Apparently professorial mode didn't end that easily. She swept out of the room, followed by Clare, and Daphne turned to Michael.

"So, shall we?"

They found out that Matthew had been moved to a more comfortable room so that the staff of the hospital could clean up the room he was in the night before. It hadn't exactly been destroyed, but the walls had been torn and were in pretty bad shape. In any case, Michael and Daphne found the boy in the children's ward of the minor magical injuries division. He was sitting up, looking hollow-eyed and a bit bruised, but otherwise in pretty good spirits.

He bounced to his feet when he saw them, and Daphne noticed the bandage around his hand. He didn't seem to care, though, instead calling them. "Mikey! Daffy! Did it work? Are they okay?"

Again, she got the impression that he was far too perceptive for a little Muggle boy.

Michael crouched down as Matthew came tearing across the room, nearly knocking the older boy over. It seemed the Ravenclaw wasn't that bothered by what must have been a frightening run-in with the little werewolf the night before. "They're fine. Both of them," Michael told him.

Matthew looked a bit disappointed, looking past Michael to the door. "Where are they?"

"They had some other things they needed to do," Daphne responded diplomatically.

"Aw, I wanted to see what the plant lady looked like," Matthew said, and Daphne suppressed a giggle. Plant lady. Then Matthew looked to Daphne. "Hey, you're walkin'. Are your legs better?"

Daphne nodded. They did feel better. It was still a little painful to walk, but not nearly as bad as it was before. The bruises around the breaks were already almost gone, in fact.

Matthew, of course, lit up like a Christmas tree. "Does that mean we're going? Can I see the Plant Lady first? What about the kitty? Did mom send me any clothes? 'cuz all I have is this hospital thing. They gave me soup for breakfast today!"

Even though he was a cute child, and he's proven very useful and clever, he was still a kid, as the questions kept coming Daphne couldn't help but feel a little disgruntled. Did he even take a single breath through all that? And he was just jumping around from subject to subject without a single cohesive word. Luckily, Michael seemed to have parsed all that. Matthew had climbed onto his back for a piggyback ride, and apparently Mikey was feeling generous enough to humour him. Daphne was glad Matthew wasn't trying to climb aboard her own back, because even though he was small, she doubted she was strong enough to hold him.

"You can see them after we get back. Your Mum gave us clothes when you came, remember?" Michael replied, glancing over his shoulder. Matthew wrapped his small arms around Michael neck and apparently commenced to squeezing, because Michael looked a little… funny for a minute before he was able to free up a hand to adjust the hold around his throat. "Now, you have to walk on your own and put your clothes on, and then we can go out and have a walk."

Matthew pouted from behind Michael's right ear, and Daphne was hard pressed to not snicker. "You can play horsie, too, then," she added, grinning slyly at Michael who seemed resigned to his fate as pack animal for a small werewolf.

At that point, a young mediwitch entered and blinked in surprise at Daphne and Michael. She was holding a bundle of children's clothing. "Hi Matthew," she said, smiling from behind thick-framed glasses. "I brought your things." She glanced expectantly to Daphne and Michael, and they slipped out of the room so that the nurse could help him get dressed.

"Makes you want to have one of your own, doesn't it?" Michael asked, smirking slightly, but she wasn't quite sure if he was wholly joking or not.


	14. Diagon Alley

**Chapter Fourteen**

Diagon Alley. Despite everything that was going on, this particular hub of the wizarding world still seemed to be quite the same. A little quieter, maybe, but that was to be expected. Not only was this an off-time of the year for travelers, but You-Know-Who was also back.

In any case, Michael was glad that he, Daphne, and Matthew didn't arrive only to find the place in ruins. The child deserved a good time which has started with their trip through the Floo network. Matthew was absolutely thrilled with it, though Michael noted that Daphne was just the opposite. She hated messes, and despite the fact that it was just a little dust, she complained. Well, at least that was back to normal. She always did seem happiest when she was complaining.

She also hadn't replied to his comment about children, though Michael didn't find that very odd. He figured she'd avoid it, but he was really just curious. After all, Daphne was awfully good with animals, and she seemed to like Matthew all right. It was almost as if she was afraid to care for anyone sometimes.

They were standing just outside the small stationary shop next to Quality Quidditch Supplies when Michael noticed something. He elbowed Daphne, and pointed to the little shop just down a side alley. "D'you see that?"

"Hm? What?"

"The Weasley Twins' joke shop. It's still open."

Daphne arched her eyebrows. "That's rather odd, don't you think? Considering..."

But Matthew was already tugging on the sleeve of her robe. "A joke shop! Can we go?"

Daphne glanced at Michael, who shrugged. "I guess so," she replied, allowing herself to be dragged towards the bright red awning. Michael followed after them, again struck by the sort of paradox that Daphne presented. On the one hand, she seemed somewhat annoyed about being dragged along by a small child. On the other hand, she wasn't complaining or pushing him away. She was actually being rather lenient… and she'd only known Matthew for a few weeks. It had taken Michael months to get her to trust him enough to be off her guard. The thought spurred a slight twinge of jealousy, but then he reasoned there was no point in being envious of a small child. Still, there were plenty of times when she pushed him away, physically and emotionally. It seemed that it was becoming a more common occurrence of late. He sighed, feeling the beginnings of a heavy cloud of gloom trying to descend upon him, and he tried to push the feeling away. Even so, he couldn't help but wonder when he'd be allowed to be as close to her as he tried to allow her to be to him.

He realized he was still standing outside the shoppe when Daphne poked her head outside the door, frowned at him, and asked if he was coming or not.

"Of course," he replied, stepping into the small building. There were shelves and shelves of candies, prank toys, ready made baskets, and other assortments of odd, potentially dangerous, and colourful items. Michael and Daphne hung back, watching Matthew run around looking at everything. Neither had much experience with kids, and Matthew seemed to be a fairly responsible one, so they figured they probably didn't need to try and control him.

"You break it, you buy it," came a set of familiar voices from just behind. Michael turned to see a door he'd missed before. It seemed to be leading to some stairs stretching up into who knows what. Probably their living quarters or extra storage space or a laboratory or something. They glanced from the child to Daphne to Michael, and then a flicker of recognition came into those twin sets of eyes.

"We haven't seen any one from the D.A. since this morning," said the first Weasley Twin.

"We thought you'd all forgotten us by now," added the other.

Now Michael was not overly familiar with Ginny's older brothers, but he wasn't wholly surprised they remembered him. He had been their little sister's first boyfriend and one of the founding members of the Defense Association with them. Still, he was a bit wary of them. One could never be overly certain when they were on the Weasley Twins' good side. Not to mention that he couldn't even begin to tell them apart.

"Corner, aren't you too young to have a kid?" asked the one on the right.

"Good thing Ginny did break up with him, eh, Fred?"

Michael grinned nervously. "Er, well, he's not mine..."

Daphne seemed to be more on top of things at the moment, suddenly asking, "Wait, did you just say you haven't seen a D.A. member since _this morning?_"

The one Michael figured was called George smiled at her. "Nice to see you've crawled out from under your rock then--"

"Daphne."

"He's yours then?" George asked.

"No. Who was here this morning?"

Fred rolled his eyes. "Right to the point, this one, isn't she?"

"Oh, yes," replied George. "Anyhow. Seems you Ravenclaws are making a habit out of hanging around with Slytherins lately."

Michael was about to ask again who the twins had seen this morning when Matthew piped up from across the shop, "I want to be a Slytherin!"

"No you don't, mate," Fred called back. "Nasty lot, they are, isn't that right?"

A year ago, Daphne might have taken some sort of great offense to that but this time around, she just crossed her arms, rolled her eyes, smiled, and asked, "Are you finished insulting me yet?"

"I think this one seems all right, Fred. think we should tell 'er who was here?"

"I think that might be the nice thing to do, George."

"Okay, then. Luna Lovegood and Pansy Parkinson were 'round here today," said Fred.

"They were dragging Anthony Goldstein along with 'em. Seemed to be--"

"Anthony was here?" Michael asked.

"A bit deaf, are you, mate?" George replied.

Daphne elbowed him. Apparently she wanted to hear about Pansy, too, and it seemed that wasn't going to happen expediently unless he shut up. So, he did.

"Good choice," Fred (a.k.a. the other one) remarked, smirking at his twin.

"Right then. So they all came around wanting us to relay a message and give an item to Lupin from Harry."

"A message?" Michael queried.

"Can't tell," George said, glancing at his twin. "Top secret, of course."

"But then... they looked fine, right?" Daphne asked.

"Never better," Fred said with a shrug. "Why?"

Daphne and Michael exchanged a glance and then started to tell the Twins what they knew. Perhaps what they knew could help someone, since the Twins seemed to be acting as go betweens now. It took at least ten minutes to tell it all, and neither Fred nor George interrupted at any point, instead just sharing a dark glance here and there.

"Well, I imagine since you told us so much it wouldn't hurt to give you one clue..." George drawled.

"But you didn't hear it from us," Fred added.

"The object we're delivering is a communication device. As far as we know, Harry's given them to a few people who are with him, and now he wants to give one to Lupin."

"So if you go find Lupin, you'll be fine."

"Well, that should be easy. That's where Terry, Granger, Finnigan and Mackenzie are," Michael said, rubbing his chin.

"Wrong again, mate. They're somewhere unplottable, but..."

George wrote something down on a piece of paper. "Read this. Memorise it. Never tell another soul or..." He glanced at Fred, and Michael felt goosebumps rising along his arms. "...We'll come find you ourselves."

Michael took the parchment and skimmed over it: _12 Grimmauld Place_. He handed it to Daphne who also looked at it for a long moment, committing it to memory before she handed it back to George.

"_Incendio._"

"So if we go there..." Michael began.

"You'll find your answers, but... You better be prepared to become fully involved. Can't have anyone going about half-arsed in this. You're either in or you're not. If not..."

"...We recommend hiding out in Madrid. 'Heard it's lovely this time of the year."

Michael nodded solemnly. It made sense. If they found out the answers, then they were giving themselves over 100. That was a big decision... And he wasn't sure he could make it on the spot. Just as he was contemplating whether he did want to make that decision, there was a loud bang behind them.

And not only was it a bang, but a squeak, a thud, and whatever other noises one could possibly use to describe what would otherwise be classified as a disaster.

Matthew sat on the floor looking just a bit too stunned to be teary-eyed, and Daphne hurried over to him. Her legs gave out when she was just about there, and she skidded the rest of the way on her knees - which looked painful, but it seemed to work well enough. She reached the little werewolf just before he started crying, and he practically fell into her arms.

"Faulty shelves," Fred grumbled. "Though I don't suppose they're really meant to be climbed on."

"I'm more concerned with the fact that about our whole stock in that corner spontaneously activated. Bit strange, don't you think?" George asked.

"Good thing we keep the fireworks upstairs," Fred replied.

Daphne returned, favouring her right leg quite heavily while trying to hold onto Matthew, who was bawling. About every time he took a breath, something else in the store would squeal, bang, or become a lot more annoying. Daphne, while trying to comfort the child, looked at Michael and arched her eyebrows.

"We wouldn't be adverse to you calming him down a bit," Fred said. Already, though, the spontaneous activation of some of odd items in the shop was slowing.

"It's all right. You just fell a little," Daphne muttered to him, as she checked him over for any new bruises. Michael helped, though it was a bit hard to tell where the bruises from last night stopped and where any new ones might have appeared.

"He a bit accident prone?" George asked.

"No," Daphne replied. "Well, Yes. You know that werewolf village we mentioned? He's one of them. We promised him a day out... That's a bit of a story." She paused. "We also _thought_ he was a Muggle."

"Well, it seems the two of you have produced a beautiful baby wizard," George said, not even attempting to squelch his smirk. Michael glared at him, knowing that Daphne wouldn't take kindly to the insinuation, but she presently seemed to be too preoccupied with Matthew to notice. The Twins glanced at Michael's expression and then turned to one another with a look of terrible amusement, wide grins threatening to rip their cheek muscles. However, they decided not to further tease Michael, instead looking around the room...and not smiling so much anymore.

"Like we said, you break it, you bought it," Fred said cheekily.

Michael turned to look at the mess as well and groaned. Knowing the Twins they were going to hold himself and Daphne to that. "Can you set us up a tab?" he asked, grinning hopefully.

"For a fellow D.A. member, maybe."

Well, he might as well have tried. He turned back to Matthew and Daphne. She was actually looking rather maternal right now despite her earlier annoyance with the boy and avoidance of his semi-joking comment about having children. She was hugging Matthew who had finally stopped crying, now hiccupping instead.

"'Wanna canary cream," he said between sniffles.

"I think I might have enough for that," Michael said, feeling around in his not too full pockets. He managed to find a galleon and handed it to Fred and George. If he'd expected change, he was sorely mistaken. Fred eyed the coin between his fingers and nodded.

"Well, we'll start with this. I'd say you now only owe us about 499 galleons."

George clasped Michael on the shoulder. "We look forward to doing further business with you. Now please take your accident prone kid and try not to loose him when he eats that canary cream."

The three--Michael, Daphne, and the still sniffling Matthew who was clutching his treat in one fist--were ushered back out onto the street.

"I never did like them that much," Daphne commented offhandedly as she set Matthew down to check him over again.

"They aren't that bad," Michael mumbled, though he wasn't so sure he agreed with that anymore. "A bit infuriating at times, but not all bad. They didn't seem too concerned about their brother, though. They didn't even mention him."

"They never were terribly conventional," Daphne said. She picked up the boy just as he stuffed the Canary Cream in his mouth, holding him under one arm almost as she'd hold a book. A moment later when he became a rather large, twittering canary... Well, it didn't seem to phase her in the least. In fact, she continued talking through all this as the young werewolf got free and climbed up onto her shoulders. "Anyway, back to the information they did give us."

"An address..." Michael noted, eying Matthew who was attempting to fly away. Daphne was calmly holding onto his leg. At least the little werewolf no longer seemed upset about the incident in the shop.

Daphne looked up at him as he stopped trying to get away. "He's a wizard, you know," she mused, actually sounding rather incredulous at that. ...And completely changing the subject.

The canary twittered again, sat down heavily on Daphne's shoulders, and shed all his feathers. Suddenly he was a boy again, and obviously a bit heavier, because just after the Slytherin's eyes widened in surprise, she fell to her knees.

Michael chuckled.

"I wanna be a Slytherin!" Matthew announced.

It was funny, except the fact that Daphne's legs were still in bad shape, and so while amused, he was also immediately worried. Thus Michael quickly relieved her of the young boy sitting atop her. Matthew immediately began to try and crawl up Michael.

"Let's do horsy rides now!" the excited boy said, nearly knocking Michael down. He got a small fist to the ear, but somehow managed to not drop Matthew, though his eyes did water painfully. Matthew had by that time maneuvered himself onto Michael's back and was apparently trying to strangle him again.

He winced down at Daphne and asked in a rather choked voice, "You okay, Daph?"

She looked up at his expression and smirked, shakily pulling herself to her feet. "Fine, yes." She dusted off her robes. "I think lunch is in order, and then Matthew should probably go home." _Before he kills one of us_, was her silent addition.

"Hey, Matthew. Ever been to a restaurant before?" Michael asked. The little boy shook his head vigorously, and Michael was sure his windpipe was going to be crushed.

"Well, we're going to take you to one," Daphne said, feeling around in her pockets. Michael did the same. Both were, of course, hoping they could actually afford to take the boy out to eat.

Between them, they imagined they had enough, deciding that, if necessary, they'd sit out the meal. Mostly because Matthew was talking about trying _everything_ because he'd never been a real wizard before. At least he was having fun, and even chatted at length with their waiter at the Leaky Cauldron - a place which he found absolutely fascinating. There wasn't much which the child didn't like, really, excepting the little accident at Fred and George's shop.

Michael watched Daphne with Matthew again there, and decided that she wasn't exactly _affectionate,_ but she was patient. Even when the kid was bouncing up and down on his seat, she managed to get him to eat at least some of the stew and crackers he'd wanted. It was strange to see her so rational and calm when he'd always known her to be much like the typical Slytherin in temperament at times. Especially because she was dealing with a Muggle - or rather, a Muggle-born wizard, as it turned out - as well as a non-human.

Was that it? Did she think of him as some sort of animal? Or was she actually learning to care?

"Do I have to go home?" he asked. That drew Michael away from his thinking.

"You don't want to?" Daphne asked.

"Missed the full moon," Matthew said, almost sadly. "I wonder what they did."

"You remember?" Michael asked. "I mean, when you change back, you--"

Matthew was looking at him blankly, so Daphne interrupted. "When they're not crazed, they actually have a pretty good recollection of things. If they're with others like them, you know? It lets them hold onto more of themselves. That's another reason why they're all probably in one village. But last night... He probably wouldn't remember that too much."

"I remember!" Matthew exclaimed proudly. "They put a thing on my face and I got it off--" Cutting off suddenly, he looked at Michael. "Oh. Oh, that wasn't good, was it?"

Michael laughed uneasily, pointedly ignoring the furrowed brow and frown Daphne was directing at him. "No, no, it turned out just fine," he said, waving his hand lazily. "I'm not awful at moving quickly when need's be," he added, noting that neither Michael nor Daphne looked convinced. "Matthew, don't you want dessert? The carrot cake here is smashing." 

"Can I?" Matthew asked, eyes and grin widening simultaneously.

"Of course, of course," Michael said, waving a waiter over. It momentarily struck him as funny that Daphne would be willing to return to this institution of all places considering it practically fell on her head a summer ago. Still, it was the only restaurant of note in Diagon Alley... His thoughts were broken as he realised that the carrot cake had arrived, and Matthew was trying to force a mouthful on Daphne. She eyed it suspiciously for a moment, looked at the rather adorable face begging her to open up, and sighed, submitting herself to his ministrations.

Next thing he knew, the fork with a big piece of cake was pressed in his own direction. Michael really wasn't a fan of eating after others, but... the mouth that had just run over that metal _was_ Daphne's... Somehow thinking that gave him a funny little thrill, and so he leaned forward and took the proffered pastry.

"Thank you," he replied after a moment, wiping his mouth with a free napkin.

The waiter walked by and dropped off the receipt, and Michael and Daphne dug around in their pockets, nearly emptying them completely, to pay it. As far as money went, Daphne and Michael were from comfortable backgrounds, but given that both of their families were not the sort to leap to arms, they'd gone into hiding. Michael couldn't even say where his parents and older sister were presently. He figured that was best, given that though his mother was a Pure-blood, his father was a Muggle, and sister a Half-blood like himself.

Even if it made things--emotional and physical--a little difficult, it nonetheless was a necessary measure, and Michael understood that much.

"Ready to go, Matthew?" Daphne asked. The little boy licked his fork one more time and then nodded. 

"I bet your Mum's missed you."

"I wonder if Dad's back yet!" The little boy exclaimed excitedly. "I can tell mum really misses him, too, but he hasn't been home in a while."

Michael looked at Daphne, wondering if she might have an explanation about that, but Daphne just shrugged at him and nodded; she'd tell him later.

They went back to St. Mungo's first, of course, because they _had_ promised Matthew he could meet McGonagall and Clare, plus, they had to pick up the little boy's things. As Daphne hadn't officially been discharged from the hospital yet - the trip to Diagon Alley was a trial of sorts to make sure she could walk - Clare and Professor McGonagall were still in her room talking, using it as an office of sorts.

"We wondered when you'd get back," Clare said as they arrived. She eyed the boy warily...

Matthew tugged on Daphne's robe, and she leaned down a bit so he could whisper to her... Michael just heard it as he asked, pointing at Clare, "Is that the plant lady?"

Daphne's grin was evil. But it was the good kind of evil, if one could call it that. "Yes. It is," she replied.

Clare glared heartily at her friend, but after a moment, she turned to Matthew with a slightly kinder look and replied, "My name is Clare."

"Pleased to meet you, Clare the Plant Lady."

Daphne giggled, and Michael couldn't help but smirk a little.

"We have something important to discuss, but first we have to take him home," Michael informed McGonagall who peered at him sharply from behind her spectacles. She nodded, as though beckoning them to be quick about it.

"Will Clare come with us to take me home?" Matthew asked, tugging on Michael's pant leg.

"Uh..."

"Sure," Clare said, and though she didn't sound especially nice about it, the action itself was rather telling.

"The portkey is by the bed," McGonagall informed them with a nod.

"Are you the cat lady?" Matthew asked, peering up at the elderly witch. McGonagall looked taken aback for a moment, but she gave him a curt nod. "Come play with me again when you're a cat, okay?" The Transfiguration professor nearly turned red at that, but she managed something along the lines of a vague promise to do so. Somehow, she couldn't help but look a little charmed by the little werewolf.

"Are you ready, Matthew?" Daphne asked, picking up the portkey and offering it to Michael, Clare, and Matthew.

Michael was starting not to mind the almost painful, uncomfortable feeling of being dragged through space by a portkey. As they all touched it, Michael noted that Clare gave him a vague sort of glare, and he wondered for a moment why she was even coming. She was the first to speak when they arrived in the Town Hall building where the Hogwarts refugees spent the night when they'd stayed over in the village.

"Thanks. I needed to get away from there for a while," Clare said. She glanced at the floor for a moment before looking around for the exit. Daphne followed her, still toting around the book so they could give it back to Emma.

Maybe it was McGonagall, Michael wondered. Surely the professor hadn't talked the girl's ears off.

They got their answer when they stepped outside, and Clare just stopped, standing there with her eyes closed, facing the setting sun. It was strange... Michael hadn't ever seen her so peaceful-looking. Even with Matthew tugging on her arm at various intervals and asking her questions ("What was it like to be a plant?" to which her answer was, "Very boring...").

Daphne and Michael just let her stand there for a while, though, until she turned to them and said, "Okay. I'm ready." Even if they asked, she probably wouldn't have explained herself. Daphne, however, would tell Michael later that night that Clare really had thought she was going to be trapped as a plant for a while. Allowing anyone to see her so happy as she was... It was sort of like a thank you to them both. Not that she'd ever admit that.

Michael didn't think it was a very good thank you.

The highlight of that evening was meeting up with Emma, who was quite happy to hear that her son was a wizard. Not so thrilled when he told his mother his house of preference, but considering she was in the presence of two Slytherins that didn't seem so bad, she didn't say anything... Except that it was nice to get to meet the other person that Matthew got to help.

The little werewolf was very proud of himself.

And what was even better in Michael's opinion was that Emma promised to write to Fred and George on Michael's behalf. Not that it would save him from having to pay four-hundred and ninety-nine more Galleons, but it might help, at least a little. They wouldn't know until later, and it was time to get back to St. Mungo's to tell McGonagall what they knew.


	15. Twelve Grimmauld Place

**Chapter Fifteen**

In school Daphne and Pansy had never been the best of friends. Clare had always been a lot closer to Daphne because of her shared not-one-of-Draco's-inner-circle status. Pansy had never approved of Daphne seeing a wizard who might as well have been a Mudblood for all his parentage was worth. Still, they had been Housemates and roommates and they had never really fought. Daphne was really more afraid of Draco than fond of him, too. Still, once the Weasley Twins had given them that bit of information, she knew immediately that she was going to go, with or without Michael.

It wasn't just that, really. If what Clare and McGonagall were saying was true, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's plans would call for Michael and Clare being done away with. Daphne wasn't especially brave or fond of heroics, and perhaps if it had been she who was not Pure-blood and they who were, she wouldn't have been so set in her decision. Still, as it was, she knew that she couldn't sit back and do nothing. Michael and Clare were her first real friends at school, and she wasn't going to let them slip away that easily.

Once they'd told McGonagall, Clare, and the others about what they'd learned in Diagon Alley, all had immediately said that they were going. That they had to. Dean had wanted to go, too, but he was too badly injured to be of much use. Susan, still having no voice and thus little magic at her disposal, also eventually decided to stay behind and watch after Dean. Thus it was decided that McGonagall, Zacharias, Ernie (who was still hobbling painfully), Clare, and Daphne would go. Michael hadn't answered immediately. Apparently he'd taken the Twins warning that if he was uncertain in the least he should be wary of going.

She couldn't blame him, but she still was a little upset when the arranged time for departure started to draw closer, and he was not among them. The plan was to Apparate to a secured area in Diagon Alley from which they'd floo into the secret location. McGonagall wanted to give Lupin notice first, though, so as not to surprise the people already there.

So it was that Daphne, Clare, Zacharias, and Ernie found themselves in a windowless room on the upper floor of the Leaky Cauldron. They would continue once McGonagall arrived.

"Corner's not coming? Doesn't surprise me," Zacharias said loftily.

Daphne bristled but didn't reply.

"It's for the best. A coward just gets other people killed," the blonde continued in a drawling voice.

Daphne started to go for her wand, but Clare grabbed her arm and shook her head. She frowned at her friend, feeling more than a little betrayed. It was then that distorted popping sound came from behind the blonde, and McGonagall appeared.

She looked around the assembled youth and nodded curtly. "One by one, if you will," she directed, holding out a pouch of powder.

Zacharias smirked and took the first pinch. "Number 12 Grimmauld Place." He was followed by Ernie and then by Clare. Daphne hesitated as she took her own handful of powder.

"Sorry, I'm late," Michael said, suddenly appearing out of nowhere (as people were wont to do when Apparating). "That Shacklebolt bloke came to the hospital. He told me that they've found Dumbledore and several of the others who were with Potter. They're with Lupin now."

"Then let's hurry," Daphne said, smiling faintly (though she tried to make it look like a smirk) and dashing her dust into the fire and stepping inside. "Twelve Grimmauld Place!"

Like so much else she was learning not to hate, the trip via the Floo network wasn't that bad, and when Daphne arrived, those that had gone before were still there waiting. Professor was with them, too, though all in all, the house wasn't remarkably crowded. There were voices in the next room over... Some of which she recognized. Especially when she heard Finnigan raise his voice to complain about something.

"Welcome," Remus said to her, then nodding a greeting at the others as they arrived one by one. She took a few steps in, trying to see around the various doorframes and decorations. It wasn't the most beautiful house, that was for sure.

"I'd like to ask you to be quiet, if you will," the werewolf went on to say, though he didn't offer any other explanation beyond that. "It's rather a complicated setup we have here, the various groups. But you can feel free to make yourselves at home."

"Thank you, Remus," Professor McGonagall replied, and even allowed the smallest of smiles. It was the first time a lot of them had been here, and some of them - Ernie, most notably, was afraid to touch anything. Clare, however, was taking Professor Lupin's advice, and was already heading into the adjacent room. Daphne, too, started to explore... But with the sound of footsteps and a rather cold voice, she found herself stopped in her tracks. Standing in frond of her, blocking her path, was Cho Chang.

Honestly, Daphne had nothing against the former Seeker. But ever since... Well, Cho had been jealous of the Slytherin for a while before she and Michael broke up. In fact, Daphne knew it was _because_ of her that they broke up in a way.

Cho really didn't like Daphne.

"Looks like you got your pretty face mauled a bit," Cho remarked almost conversationally, and Daphne's hand went up to touch her cheek where the wounds were still healing. Pink, and almost invisible by now... But still there.

Daphne simply offered Cho a smile, though, because it was at that moment that someone else appeared behind her. The smirking face... He always smiled. Did he ever not smile? At that moment, it wasn't infuriating in the least.

"It's still pretty," Anthony said.

"Trying to steal her away, Anthony?" Michael asked, suddenly appearing from behind her, dusting soot from his hair.

The smirk disappeared from Anthony's face, sliding into what looked like a genuinely relieved smile. Cho's face, too, softened, and for a moment it looked like she might cry. This was only exacerbated when Michael grabbed both Ravenclaws into a group hug of sorts. Daphne glanced away, feeling more than a little like an outsider to this happy reunion.

"You berk," Anthony said, shaking his head and squeezing Michael's shoulder as he drew away. "I thought you were dead--Terry, too. He told me, but... It's good to see you, mate," the ex-Prefect said with that same ear splitting grin.

Cho was reluctant to let go, and Daphne could actually hear muffled sobs coming from where the small Asian girl's face was pressed into _her_ boyfriend's chest. Michael was making some sort of soothing noise and stroking her hair. It didn't seem romantic, but Daphne couldn't help but feel a flare of jealousy. Cho broke up with Michael because of her... And Michael hadn't taken it well, but at the same time, it was obvious that he didn't hate his ex. Daphne thought he really ought to have, after Cho did that with him and then...

Well, it was ancient history. Let Chang try to get her claws in. Michael was _Daphne's_ now. Anthony seemed to see the rather aggravated expression on Daphne's face and began to peel Cho off Michael. She turned to Anthony, instead, burying her face in his solar plexus and continuing to sob softly.

Michael looked uncomfortable, running a hand through his hair and grinning uneasily. "Well, we're quite alive, as you both can see," he said, moving a little closer to Daphne.

"Let's go into the kitchen," Anthony said, somehow managing to shepherd Cho--who was still clinging to him, but now just sniffling rather than crying loudly--towards the door that Daphne could only assume was the kitchen. Daphne glanced at Michael before very firmly taking his hand and following after. Take that, Cho Chang.

He squeezed her hand, and when Daphne glanced up, she could see a somewhat bewildered amusement on his face. When he noticed her looking at him, he smiled and shook his head. At least there wasn't anything to worry about _there._

Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was a bit run down in that old house sort of way. Though the wood was rotting a bit at the corners and the finishes were chipping off the ornamental carvings, it still appeared regal in a way. There was a sort of warm feeling to the place, especially because there were so many people in here currently. Dumbledore wasn't among them, but the refugees from Hogwarts that had traveled to the werewolf village were there. Somehow Daphne didn't mind as much when Mackenzie nearly tackled Michael in a hug.

As he worked on prying the other Ravenclaw off, Daphne glanced around to see if there were any new faces. Seamus offered her a wave while Hermione continued talking to him. Then she noticed another of her Housemates off in the corner, leaning between a cupboard and the wall. It was almost as if she was trying to hide. She'd never seen Pansy look so defeated before, and she was accepting comfort from Terry, of all people. Assuming it was because Draco was missing, Daphne didn't hesitate to kneel down in front of her... And she was just about to ask how she was holding up when the once-Prefect nearly knocked her over as she wrapped her arms around the other Slytherin's neck.

It was about then that Daphne noted that Terry, while trying to be a comfort, looked almost horrified. Or, at least, he looked less blank than he usually did.

"Pansy, what's wrong?" Daphne asked softly as she patted the girl's back. She was _sobbing._ Pansy Parkinson was hysterical. This very witch, whom Daphne actually really looked up to even if they never exactly were great friends, was having a breakdown in her arms.

"I was scared," she said. "I didn't mean to do it..."

Anthony, having finally separated himself from Cho, crouched down next to them. "I keep telling her that she probably saved us. Pansy, I'll say it again."

"I know, I know," she said, a bit of that temper showing through. That relieved Daphne a bit, except the next thing Pansy said kind of caused the bottom to drop out of her stomach.

"Daph... I didn't think it would work. I swear if... I thought I might just scare him a little. But it did. He... He..." She leaned in close, whispering. "He died, Daphne."

"Who died?" Daphne asked, eyes narrowing on Anthony.

"Walden Macnair," Anthony replied.

"I _knew_ him... My parents had _dinner_ with him at Christmas... three years ago," she hiccupped. "I knew... but I didn't..."

"You didn't want to, but you did," Daphne replied. "If what... Anthony says is true, you'd be dead if you didn't."

Pansy shook her head, not replying. "He... had Draco and I thought I could get him back and he was going to kill..."

"...me," Anthony finished with as wry a look as Daphne had ever seen him don.

"If he had Draco, and you... Well, what happened to...?" Daphne asked, frowning even more deeply now.

"I didn't know who it was... Harry knew him, though. Rodolphus Lestrange grabbed him and escaped," Anthony said with a sigh.

"So who's missing now?"

"Harry, Ginny, Luna, and Neville. Everyone else is here," Terry replied, tentatively patting Pansy on the back, though he looked too afraid to touch her to really be comforting.

"When did all this happen?"

"Last night... Harry finally managed to track them down--Ron and Malfoy," Anthony replied. "We... well, it was really intense. Pansy ended up killing Macnair, and then the next thing I knew... I felt funny. They put the Imperius Curse on me, but Cho grabbed us both, and she somehow managed to get us away from there before Lestrange could make me..." The Prefect was actually frowning now, averting his gaze.

"So I take it the others continued chasing after them?"

"Potter left immediately. They had Ron, too, and as soon as they left with him, Ginny and him were gone. Luna followed them... Then Neville left when the Lestranges did..."

Daphne nodded, trying to process all this.

"I've never seen him like that," Cho said softly from behind, making Daphne's heart nearly stop in surprise. "Harry. That rodent looking man... He had Ron..."

"So they're probably right behind the Death Eaters now," Terry broke in.

"Which means You Know Who is going to have to act quickly," Daphne continued.

"You know?" Anthony asked, clearly surprised.

"Well, we did a bit of guessing from what Clare told us..."

"We better tell you the whole story."

"The whole story," Daphne repeated. Were they actually going to tell her all the little missing details now? She must have sounded a little incredulous, because Michael, sitting down next to her, elbowed her. He hadn't heard what happened to Pansy since he'd just arrived, and so Daphne diverted his questioning glance from the other Slytherin with a shake of her head. Not now. She could tell him later.

Pansy leaned back against the wall, wiping her face with the sleeve of her torn robe. She also leaned against Terry who looked rather terrified but didn't move. It was amazing one man could do to people... On one hand, Pansy had become a killer. As justified as it probably was, it was scary. On the other hand, it was finally bringing the houses together.

Other people sat down around them. Now that everyone was around, there was a story to be told.

"He--"

Hermione interrupted Anthony almost as soon as he started speaking. "Voldemort. Use his name."

"_He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,"_ Anthony said, and Hermione sighed, "He's very confident at the moment. He didn't mind telling us before he left Hogwarts what he's planning to do. Every witch, every wizard... We're all connected by Magic. It's a force, you know? Everyone that has it is, well, in a way, we're all in the same family."

Pansy snorted a bit, but said nothing. She didn't entirely like associating with Half-bloods and Muggleborns, even if she was getting used to it. And she _had_ used the killing curse to save Anthony's life.

"It's something he created. Something that relies on... Well, he didn't say all this. We got more information later. It uses magic, drawn from people, and it makes a sort of relay, position to position, of magic. It's like a wall, if you want to look at it that way. When it's activated, it's like he'd be casting the Imperius Curse over most of Europe. Game over."

"I believe... I can take it from here."

Everyone looked up toward the door to see Professor Dumbledore standing there. The last headmaster of Hogwarts, still looking quite regal, though there was something very different about him. Not defeated... Albus Dumbledore could never look defeated. That did give Daphne a bit of hope. But when Hermione and Seamus rose to their feet and guided the old man over to a chair, Daphne knew exactly what was wrong. His eyes weren't focusing at all. In fact, they didn't even seem to be working. Like they were dead... She knew the horror of blindness. Out of everything that happened when the Gryffindor tower collapsed, she remembered the helplessness of learning she was blind. Still, even though she was well aware now that Dumbledore couldn't see, she felt a surge of pride knowing that he was there, and that in some way, she was connected to him.

"There's a weapon," Dumbledore went on. "Located in the Ministry of Magic. Within that weapon lies the power to erase magic completely. It is Lord Voldemort's goal to use it on those that... Might not be of Pure magical descent. Taking their magic, he will concentrate it into a device that will rob the ability to decide from, as Mister Goldstein said, everyone within a certain radius. Building on that, the Dark Lord will eventually hold the entire wizarding world in his hand."

"That's why he was separating us," Anthony added. "That's why he was trying to make the Pure-bloods go one way, and the Half-bloods and Muggleborns go another. I just ended up in the way."

"Potter's gone to stop him," Daphne surmised in a whisper.

"No, he hasn't," Dumbledore said, and she felt that he looked right at her, offering a kind smile. "He has gone..." The others looked at him, holding their breaths. He hadn't said this part yet. No one knew what he was going to say. No one could imagine why Harry Potter wouldn't be going to stop the Dark Lord!

"Harry has gone to fully activate the device. He has gone to destroy magic." 

No one spoke for what seemed to be a very long time.

"So, we'll all be Muggles?" Pansy asked nearly inaudibly. Daphne couldn't help but feel the same horrified twist in her stomach at the thought. She couldn't tell what Michael or the others were thinking, but they looked shocked.

"If you wish to call it that, my dear," Dumbledore said. "Perhaps there will be magic again someday, but this is the only way for now. We have discussed this extensively," and Daphne realised there were several other people in the room now--a woman she didn't recognise with wild coloured hair, Lupin, Shacklebolt, the Weasley parents, "and we have decided for the greater good, Harry must do this."

"So it's just him, Neville, Ginny, and Lovegood goin'?" Seamus asked, looking horrified as he joined the circle. "Won't--"

"Voldemort," Hermione supplied.

"--he reckon that Harry's goin' t'do that? How're they suppose to fight off all those Death Eaters so?" 

Dumbledore suddenly looked very old. "You are right. Harry will not be able to accomplish that by his own means. He is already on his way there, and surely Voldemort will be not far behind. The time has come... This is a terrible thing to ask of you all who are still so young, but Harry is about to do something more difficult than any person has done before, and he needs you. For those who are willing, I have secured a portkey to the Ministry, and it will activate in thirty minutes."

Seamus and Hermione's shoulders tightened with resolution. Gryffindors to the end, it seemed. They were the first, but then the others around them, too, began to show signs of a similar determination. Anthony smiling and shrugging as though to say, 'What else is there to do?' Terry, too, nodded briefly, his face fully accepting. Ernie, Zacharias, Cho, Mackenzie, and Clare, too, all bobbed their heads in assent. Daphne glanced at Michael, who glanced back at her and took her hand. The adults around them looked torn, but resigned to this as well. Dumbledore was right--Harry needed an army to accomplish this.

"I could not have imagined watching a braver group of students grow. I hope to see you all--figuratively, of course--" he said with a somewhat amused look. Daphne always knew he was a little barmy, though. "--alive and well and prepared for a hero's welcome. Good luck to each one of you. Please prepare yourselves."

"We won't let you down," Hermione replied, and Seamus nodded heartily.

"We all owe you a debt of gratitude I doubt any living soul can pay," Dumbledore replied, smiling fondly at the bushy haired girl.

The group began to dissipate, heading off to do whatever last minute things they needed before they left. Michael and Daphne were left alone in the corner. He still hand her hand in his own. He squeezed it, and she noticed he was staring rather pointedly at a scratch in the wall.

"Daph, since... Well, there's something I wanted to tell you," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

"What?" 

He glanced at her for a long moment, his dark eyes troubled. Then he shook his head. "When we get back, I'm going to get you that umbrella." She blinked, having the feeling that that was not what he'd intended to say, but he'd already released her hand and was walking over to Terry and Anthony. She looked down at her hand and shook her head.

"Ready?" Clare asked, clasping her shoulder from behind.

"Yeah, let's go."


	16. The End of the Line

**Chapter Sixteen**

The lobby of the Ministry was already evacuated. There they stood, a handful of Hogwarts students, waiting for the unknown. Were they brave? Some of them. Others were quite obviously frightened. Zacharias, for all his bravado, was pacing between the front desk and the old fountain. Pansy, still red-eyed and weary, stood away from the rest of the group, waiting.

Michael was scared. Never would he have thought he'd find himself in a situation such as this one. In the last fifteen minutes they'd had at the old house, they were referred to as Order members. He wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but it bolstered the confidence of some of the others. That last fifteen minutes... It had gone too quickly. Was he going to die? Is this what a soldier felt like? Somehow, he always thought that a soldier should feel a lot braver.

The older members of the Order were gone, deeper into the Ministry, into the Department of Mysteries, where they were removing one by one the protective shields around the Weapon and around the Ministry itself. This would allow Harry to apparate in from wherever he was. It would also allow Voldemort and his Death Eaters the ability to apparate in. Such safeguards, placed only a couple years prior, were now a hindrance rather than a help.

And the Weapon needed to be activated by Potter before Lord Voldemort got to it first.

They felt a sudden surge around them, and each one looked around as if the end had finally come... It was just the apparation shield dying, though. Moments after it was cast, there were three pops. Three people apparated into the lobby. One with red hair, who had obviously been tortured but was standing. Another, blonde, had been almost well taken care of and showed only the barest hints of injury. The third was the Boy who Lived.

Michael admittedly was never on close terms with Potter, but he knew the dark haired young man was never one for speeches, and now was no exception. Even as Hermione shouted to him and Ron--her voice cracking with relief--he was already taking off towards a door Michael had not noticed before. Somehow it seemed like the Boy Who Lived was somewhat familiar with the layout of the building, but Michael really couldn't see how that was possible. Ron Weasley started to follow, but began to crumple. Malfoy's arm was suddenly under him, and the two shared a look of resigned distaste before Ron righted himself, and Malfoy released him. Then they, too, ran off in the direction Harry had gone. At that moment, Ginny, Luna, and Neville Longbottom appeared.

Lupin began to quickly bark out orders. "All right, remember the plan. We need you to hold them back at strategic spots throughout the Ministry. Hermione, Charlie, Tonks, Ginny, and I will go after Harry, Ron, and Draco. The next level of defense will be to guard the cross-roads--that'll be the black, circular room and the corridors before and beyond it. The area with the weapon cannot be accessed without going through this room, so it's very important you hold out as long as possible. Molly, Bill, Dedalus, Hestia, Terry, Seamus, Zacharias, Mackenzie, Ernie, and Clare will defend it. Our first line will secure the area before the cross-roads. That will be Kingsley, Arthur, Minerva, Neville, Luna, Anthony, Cho, Daphne, Pansy, and Michael. Spread yourselves out. Don't group together or you won't be able to move. Beware of the Imperius Curse. Dodge unforgivables--don't try to block them. Good luck!"

There was a moment where nobody moved, and then suddenly everyone was in motion, following after the others one by one or in pairs or by threes... Whatever happened to be convenient. They went through a golden gateway to several lifts, the first of which was already departed with the first group. Those that would be heading into the circular room described by Lupin went next.

The lifts were noisy, though the sound did a bit to lessen the fear inherently induced by the abandoned state of the building. There was a horrible moment of loneliness as Michael listened to both lifts stop somewhere below. Daphne, her wand out, was facing back toward the lobby. Michael, too, retrieved his from his inner pocket. After all, if Potter and the others could apparate in, surely the Death Eaters would learn that they, too, would be able to.

As soon as the lift returned, Kingsley Shacklebolt throw open the gate. "Let's go," he said to them, ushering them in one by one starting with Professor McGonagall. Neville followed, as did Mister Weasley and Luna.

Then there was a _crack_ from the lobby; the sound of several people apparating in unison. Shacklebolt locked eyes with Weasley for the briefest of moments, then secured the gate, sending the lift down.

Michael's heart was beating in his throat by this time, but there was nothing to do but face what was coming. In the next moment there was another sound - a crack - which was either more people apparating in, or some apparating out. Whichever it was, the footsteps soon followed, and he could see the shadows of the approaching Death Eaters.

"We could apparate down," Cho suggested, standing shoulder to shoulder with Anthony and Daphne.

"We're the first line," Shacklebolt said quietly.

In the darkness, Michael could see Anthony's head turn to the side, toward the lifts that led _up_ from the ground floor - These were across from the lifts that went down. There wasn't a lot of time, and they had the same general idea. Without pushing the call button, both of them began to work on opening the doors, soon aided by the stronger Kingsley. when there was enough room for them all to fit, they retreated, hiding therein and waiting.

It was Daphne that had the idea first. As the first of the Death Eaters appeared, securing the area with the lifts, she moved just enough so that Michael knew exactly what it was she was up to. Her wand already in hand, she was getting into a better position so she could hex them from behind. Michael wasn't brave; neither was he a coward. But the situation was dire. He, too, shifted his position, and could only hope that the others would catch on.

Eight Death Eaters. Five Order members. This could work. This could work.

"Stupefy!"

A shot of red burst from Daphne's wand--perfectly hitting its mark--and one Death Eater fell down without so much as a cry. Another shot of red went by his face as Anthony, too, shouted out the hex. He didn't even have time to rub his cheek, which smarted slightly from the force of the spell, before the Death Eaters had realised that they were being ambushed. At that moment, two more apparated in to replace the two that had gone down. Michael had not actually _seen_ a Death Eater in person before. There was something upsetting about the way their faces were hidden under those hoods--it made them appear something less than human.

However, now that they're cover was gone, there was nothing for it: Pansy, Cho and Kingsley were already rushing past, straight into the fray. Michael barely had a chance to reorient himself before Anthony was grabbing him from behind, helping him to his feet, and giving him a gentle push forwards. More Death Eaters were starting appear now. Somehow the odds weren't looking so great, but at least they were in enough space to dodge without running into anyone.

Daphne ran past him, darting towards Pansy to shove the girl aside as a burst of green light nearly hit them both. In the disorder of the moment, Michael really couldn't tell who was casting what and at whom. All he knew was that Daphne was just barely missing being hit by quite a few rays of green, and Anthony was directly in the path between himself and her. His eyes stung with the afterimage of red, white, black, green, yellow shots of spells meant to simply incapacitate and spells meant to kill. No one was dead yet, though.

"C'mon, Michael, let's go," Anthony said, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, and Michael just had time to yank the back of Anthony's shirt as hard as he could--feeling it rip a little--to keep his friend from being hit by a rather nasty looking streak of black light.

He heard someone scream from the other side of the room, but he couldn't look, blocked by Anthony who was scrambling to get off of him and continue fighting. Michael assumed this was just what Remus meant they ought to _not_ be doing in those last minute instructions, but even if there was _some_ space to move in, there wasn't a lot. He stumbled to his feet and tried to find the source of the cry. Daphne was bent over Pansy, who looked to be still alive, but in severe pain. Cho was yanking at Daphne's shoulder, trying to tell her to get a move on--after all, the Death Eaters had very little interest in anyone who was down for their count. Michael grimly reminded himself that all they wanted was to get to the weapon before Potter did, and if they could simply secure a path to that room, it didn't really matter if they killed, maimed, or just knocked their adversaries out.

Daphne stumbled to her feet, but didn't move away from Pansy, instead steadfastly shooting off spells to try and protect both of them. Cho, looking frustrated, positioned herself at Daphne's back, defending from the other side.

"Duck, Michael!" he could hear Anthony shout from nearby.

Michael didn't question the command. As soon as he processed it, which didn't take long considering the already fast pace of the battle, he ducked. It was just in time, too; he felt the spell brush his hair, burning it just enough so that he could smell it. He heard someone attempt a scream, but the sound only died in the middle and fell off into a thud. Someone had taken the spell meant for Michael.

he wasn't sure which spells he cast, but he hoped they were all reasonably dangerous. His voice mixed with the ones around him to a point where he couldn't even hear his own words above the cacophony. More fell...

And then suddenly, everyone stopped.

Michael tried to stand again, but realized that the leg he was kneeling on was in quite a bit of pain. The room was too dark to see, but when he reached down, he could feel blood. It was warmer than he thought it would be, actually... Mostly since the last time he'd been covered in it, it had felt so cold. Had he been hit by a spell? If so, he couldn't remember it.

But he wasn't the only one frozen. The rest - the Order members, the Death Eaters - were all staring at one man, who had suddenly appeared soundlessly among them. The cold red eyes focused on nothing in particular, though the fact that Michael could see them, the fact that they just _didn't care..._

And then the man was gone, and it was seconds later when the remaining Death Eaters apparated out after him. There was no mistaking then in the silence that the fight was continuing below.

"What was the point?" Daphne demanded. "What was the damned point?"

Pansy groaned and stirred. She seemed to be coming to, and Michael could already see that Cho was trying a few preliminary healing spells. The truth was, Pansy Parkinson was most likely out of the fight. 

Michael turned a little, wincing as he realized he'd knelt right on the sharp half of a broken wand. At least it wasn't his own. He tried to remove the broken stick before Anthony could see him with it stuck in his knee, and it was about then that Michael realized that it was Anthony's wand. He turned to look for his friend, only to find him lying motionless on the floor next to a stunned Shacklebolt.

The blood slicked wand dropped out of his hand as he stumbled over to Anthony, dropping down beside him and ignoring the pain in his knee as he started to shake him.

"Hey, hey, Anthony... Wake up," he muttered.

His friend's face looked so different like this. Of course, they lived in the same room for seven years, so he'd seen him sleeping, but... It wasn't right. He looked so still and white, and Michael began to shake him even harder, lifting the taller young man's shoulders off the ground. "Don't," he kept repeating, and he wasn't sure how time passed. It felt like it had when he had found Daphne injured. Moments just disappearing as he tried to bring Anthony back to consciousness and the hands that finally wrenched him away.

"He's not dead, Mikey!" Daphne said, giving _him_ a sharp shake. He realised she and Cho were there, only Cho wasn't now, because she was working on healing Anthony. He sort of remembered that she had been training to be a healer.

"We're going to go on to the next area to help them try to hold the cross-roads," Cho commanded.

"Wait, we're just going to _leave_ them?" Michael asked, pushing himself to his feet.

"No, I'm going to do what I can for them, and then I'll join you," the Asian witch replied calmly. Anthony moaned softly, and the sign of life seemed to put Michael back in his senses.

"There's no time to waste!" Daphne snapped and disapparated.

"That was dumb," Cho muttered, still leaning over Anthony. She'd managed to get him into a sitting position against the wall, and his head was rolling back, pausing now and then as he drifted in an out of the edge of consciousness. Michael noticed that Cho's voice didn't sound as biting as it usually did when she spoke of the girl. He crouched down next to her as she focused a spell on Anthony's chest, where there was a growing spot of dark blood forming on his shirt.

"You're bleeding, Cho," Michael noted absently as he noticed the pinpricks of red already blotting her arms. He could see it soaking through her robe, too.

Anthony blinked his eyes open, and Cho gently steadied his head as he shut them again. "Daphne... Cast a shield charm around both of us. Well, all three of us, really, since Parkinson was there."

Despite the shield, the spell had made it through. But it could have been worse. And no one had died. "We should get to them," Michael said, half-limping over to Shacklebolt. Cho followed shortly after.

"_Ennervate_" she said, and a moment later, the senior Order member opened his eyes, blearily looking around. As soon as he got his bearings, he barked one command.

"Report!"

It was said in such a manner that Michael replied almost instantly. "Anthony and Pansy are injured. Daphne apparated ahead. I don't know where."

Shacklebolt struggled to his feet. "Corner, help me get Parkinson and Goldstein into the elevators where they'll be out of the way." Already, he was grabbing Pansy under her arms and gently dragging her into the elevator. Michael and Cho were able to get Anthony into the other one. They could only hope that they didn't wake up and panic... Or apparate into the fight. But at least they wouldn't be found. They stepped around the downed Death Eaters, some of which Michael feared might have been killed.

"Apparate straight down. There's a room down there, and a hallway beyond that. There will be fighting, so have your wands out." Kingsley then apparated away. Michael and Cho looked at each other...

And then suddenly, they were right back in the fight, and this time, there wasn't any cover.

They were in a windowless room with McGonagall, Neville, Luna, Arthur Weasley, and Daphne who were already lost in the heat of the battle with... more Death Eaters than Michael would liked to have seen. At the far end of the room was the door that Michael assumed lead to the corridor going to the cross-roads that Kingsley had just spoken of. The entire wall on that side of the room was glowing an ominous red, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was not among the fighters. Kingsley appeared with a loud pop and immediately threw himself into the heart of the fray. He felt a tug at his arm and glanced down at Cho.

"Hey, Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't die, okay?" she said, ducking her head as she uttered the words, and then running straight after Kingsley.

He'd have to thank Potter later, because if it hadn't been for the D.A., his head would have probably have been taken right off by a stream of black. He managed to just duck in time, sprinting towards where he saw Daphne last. In the mix of bodies--and there was not much room to dodge and move, so many were right on top of one another--it was hard to get his bearings, much less find her, but he could hear her voice shouting off hexes right and left at the other side of the room. He narrowly rolled out of the way of a jet of green light and scrambled to his feet between to Death Eaters who tried to hex him and instead hit one another. He thought that was sort of cool, except he really didn't have time to think much on it, because he could just see Daphne ahead near that wall of red.

He lunged forward, knocking a Death Eater down in his wake. "Stupefy!" he shouted before the man (or woman, he couldn't tell) could get his or her sense back enough to retaliate. Daphne was just there ahead of him. All he had to do was go a few more yards...

The nearer he got, the hazier his mind felt, almost as if he was extremely and suddenly calm for absolutely no reason. He remembered somewhere in the back of his mind that this must be the wall Anthony told them about. This was the beginning of the massive... Somethingsomethingsomething...

_CURSE! IMPERIUS CURSE!_ He felt his own mind cut through that haze, but only just. As Michael staggered backwards, his thoughts did clear... But then, Daphne was quite close to the wall, and she wasn't being affected by the curse. He didn't have time to think, though, because he had to dodge a flash of red that went streaking past him and burned right into the wall next to Luna Lovegood's head.

"_Stupefy!_" Michael shouted. It seemed to work well so far, so he may as well keep using it. The Death Eater that had attacked him went down, and he turned to Daphne again. She, as well as Neville, were backed up against it. Tiny electrical bolts from the surface would arch to them if they happened to brush against it, but it _seemed_ almost solid. He took another step toward it and felt the haziness again. Why...

Daphne and Neville were Pure-blooded, and he wasn't. It was only affecting wizards that weren't Pure-blooded.

Somehow through the haze of light-headed comfort that kept coming over him, it occured to him that he might be the only not Pure-blooded wizard in the whole room, for no one else seemed to be concerned by the wall at all. He knew he should avoid the wall. Lupin had told them to avoid the Unforgivables, rather than try to fight them, but _Daphne_ was here, and she and Longbottom looked like they were becoming trapped in the corner just beyond his reach.

Someone yanked on his shirt from behind, just saving him from another bolt of the Killing Curse that hit a Death Eater instead. The hood slipped off to reveal a gaunt faced looking man who at the moment Michael found rather indescript, except he had the sort of sharp features that many Pure-blooded wizards shared. He turned back to see who had grabbed him, but Cho was already disappearing between the bodies of black robes.

"Cheers," he started to call after her. With that Death Eater out of the way, he could now easily reach Daphne and Neville. He started to dart forward when he felt perhaps the most terrible thing he had in his entire life. He barely registered that a female voice had screamed, 'Crucio.' He couldn't move to turn or duck or anything, because it seemed like every nerve in his body was going off at once. He wasn't really sure even that described it, because even in all the Quidditch accidents and bouts of the flu and all other injuries and illnesses he'd endured in his life, nothing had felt like this. He thought he would go insane with the pain, and it seemed his assailant had no interest in letting up.

Maybe he screamed, he couldn't really tell, but Daphne turned to him as his body jerked forward--nerve endings moving his limbs beyond his control--and fell into the wall. The moment his shoulder made contact with the red shield of light, the pain from the Cruciatus Curse immediately ended, replaced by something just as bad, perhaps because it didn't feel like his nerves were going insane, but rather like he was being torn apart from the inside out. It seemed like everyone in the room had paused and gone silent. Maybe they had. Then again, he might have become delusional with pain. It wasn't really something he could be sure of anymore, except he thought maybe his back had also fallen against the wall, and it felt as though he were being drawn taut against it like a magnet to metal.

A scream rent the quiet, and it sounded uncannily like his own voice. It echoed in his ears, sliding away with everything else into the static and stillness.


	17. Victory and Defeat

**Chapter Seventeen**

"_MIKEY!_"

Daphne wanted to go to him. She knew he was hurt and she didn't know how bad... But the resulting flash from his collision with the wall still had her blinded. Her eyes were just adjusting.

The first thing she saw was that the wall was full of holes, but that they were filling in, almost like some sort of gelatin. Michael was lying half on one side, half on the other. Most notably, his eyes were wide open, and she was certain he was dead. It was about then that she almost did the stupidest thing she'd ever done, and tried to dive through the wall to get to him.

Cho grabbed her around the neck, though only just, pulling her back into the battle which, even though it had been temporarily suspended, was now back in full swing. One woman in the middle of the room was screaming the Cruciatus Curse at anyone she could reach, and Daphne, as much as she felt in a stupor, just barely dodged a jet of violet-black light.

"Mikey..." She whispered, turning back toward the wall. Cho was gone, she could get to him now... Pull him back, help him live again. Because it wasn't possible that he was dead. She was just wrapping her hands around his ankles when she noticed the female Death Eater standing over her. The hood was gone, and what might have once been a pretty face was full of terror and rage. This was it... Daphne knew that she was about to die.

It felt like there was a sickening drop in the room and Daphne was sure she'd just felt death, but she was still there. Still living. The red wall died completely, and she could only describe the feeling she experienced next as some kind of vortex. Everything spun for a moment, or seemed to, and then locked into place.

The Death Eaters, trained to respond instantly after such a confusing state, began shouting the Killing Curse from all over the room. 

Nothing happened.

It was only a moment later when a Death Eater, hoodless now, came crashing through the door, holding his head. "He's dead! He's dead!" he was screaming frantically, ripping at his hair. The dark haired woman ran over to him and grabbed his shoulders.

"Potter? Potter's dead, yes?"

"No," the man moaned and fell to his knees.

The woman shrieked as well, grabbing fistfuls of her own hair as she began to keen. It was so... Daphne didn't exactly know _what_ to make of this scene except most of the Death Eaters were making for the lifts in a vain attempt to escape apprehension. Kingsley, McGonagall, and Weasley were already at work trying to incapacitate those they could. They were soon joined by others coming from the cross-roads and beyond. The room was getting rather crowded, actually.

Daphne managed to shove through the crowd towards the wall. She soon found Cho following closely after her, though what the aspiring mediwitch could do now without magic (or what she could even have done with magic) was beyond Daphne. The two put shaking hands down on the fallen young man's legs and began to try and drag him back into the room. There was something sickeningly limp about the way his body slid through the rubble towards them.

So many people, and they were lost here in this little section of the room, just the three of them. Daphne wanted to do something. She wanted Cho to do something because Cho was supposed to be able to fix everything because she was a Mediwitch and that's just how it was but there was no magic anymore so there wasn't anything anyone could...

He was staring blankly, eyes open, looking upward and at no one. Because he was dead.

And for some reason, this really made Daphne mad, because he owed her something. Balling her hands into fists, she beat on his chest, and despite Cho's best efforts to stop her, she wouldn't be drawn away. Each time she brought her hand down, she spoke one word.

"You... Were... Gonna... Get... Me... An... Umbrella...!"

On the last word, Michael's body jerked on its own accord. He seemed to be trying to breathe, though it wasn't working. Daphne and Cho looked at each other -- He wasn't dead!

"There's something I can do," Cho said. "It's a Muggle thing. We--"

Daphne waved her hand. "Do it."

Cho straightened Michael out as much as she could, tilting his head back, she pinched his nose and taught Daphne how Muggles resuscitate people who aren't breathing.

"What are you--" She began as Cho started pumping down on his chest. She repeated the process, urging Daphne to trust her between breaths.

Somehow she didn't feel even a flicker of jealousy as Cho's mouth covered Michael's and the small woman forced breath back into his lungs. It seemed to take a long time. People were still milling around excitedly around them, not really paying attention to their own miniature drama, or if they were, Daphne wasn't paying attention to them. She didn't really understand what Cho was doing, or why it was taking so long. Maybe because it had been a few minutes before they even tried this.

She realised she had taken his hand, which was oddly cold, and was breathing on it softly as she watched. Cho continued working, silently, calmly, steadily. She would have been a really great mediwitch. Daphne didn't even notice at first when his eyelids finally fell closed over those penetrating near black eyes--even more piercing when glazed and vacant--and he took his first pained breath on his own. Cho sat back on her haunches and chuckled softly to herself, and his hand twitched in her fingers. It was then that Daphne realised he was alive, and that everything was all right. Cho began to try to roll him on his side, and though she didn't understand the point of the gesture, Daphne quickly moved to help.

"Feckin' hell, Chang! How'd you do that?" suddenly came from behind them. "Terry, did you see that? It was bleedin' brilliant!"

Daphne turned around to look at Seamus just in time for Terry to give him a good hard swat upside the head. Seamus winced, stepping off to the side, and Terry crouched down next to Michael.

"There's ambulances upstairs. We should probably get Michael--"

"No," Cho interrupted. Daphne neither knew what an ambulance was or how one could help Michael, but she thought that if Terry believed it to be a good idea, they shouldn't waste any time. She was about to ask Cho about that, but the other girl continued. "No, they should come down here. I don't know how else he's injured, but he shouldn't be moved except by someone that... Knows how. And I really don't."

"Then get them down here!" Daphne exclaimed, looking back up to Seamus. For once, the former Gryffindor didn't argue with her and ran off to find the stairway up. For the first time, Daphne noticed that there were other people on the floor. Other bodies and other injured... She couldn't tell which was which. A shock of blonde hair near the place where they'd apparated looked like Luna. Neville was leaning heavily against a pillar. She could see Draco and Hermione on either side of Ron, helping the red-haired boy walk, returning from wherever it was they'd been. There was no sign of Harry Potter or Clare or any of the others yet. Hopefully they were okay.

A few minutes later, the people in white coats arrived carrying what looked to be cots without legs. Seamus had one of the men by the sleeve and was drawing him and his partner over to the place where Michael was. Daphne found herself, Cho, and Terry shoved out of the way as the men put Michael on the cot and carried him off.

Unsure how long she stared after them, she almost didn't feel the tap on her shoulder. When she turned around, Clare was there, eyes wide, almost like Pansy's had been at the house on Grimmauld Place.

Daphne said nothing. For once, whether the tall Slytherin liked it or not, Daphne knew best: she hugged her. Clare sighed softly and leaned heavily on Daphne, and somehow--after all that--Daphne found herself leaning back equally. Neither said anything for a long time. That is, until a rather loud roar of excitement filled the room. The two pulled away and turned toward the door.

Harry Potter, his legs dragging more than actually walking (though he did seem to be trying to do so), emerged between Remus Lupin and Ginny Weasley. His glasses were gone. There was blood streaking down his face and arms and grime everywhere the blood was not, but he was very much so alive.

The room quickly turned silent, all faces eagerly turning to the Boy Who Lived for some news of what had happened down in the bowels of the Ministry. He stared blankly at the crowd for a moment, smiling quietly to himself, and then he said two words.

"It's over."

That messy, scarred head dropped then, falling to his chest, and Ginny gasped sharply, crying out his name. Lupin quickly waved towards the next cot coming down the stairs (an area previously not noted by Daphne, though she thought she ought to have been paying more attention to it. It was just hard to do so in the midst of the battle!). The men in white put Harry on it and fled back from whence they came. Ginny chased after them.

The room was actually starting to clear--most of the Death Eaters being rounded up and taken to god-knows-where (not that Daphne really cared at the moment), and the wounded being quickly evacuated from the room. It took her a moment to realise that Seamus and Terry had already left, as well, probably going after Michael and Anthony and the others.

"Ever been in an ambulance?" Clare asked, looking down at Daphne, who shook her head. "It's terribly dull."

Daphne smirked and ran up the stairs, Clare fast behind her.

When they were outside, Daphne noted that the Muggles had managed to fit quite a few annoying boxes into the alleyway. They were all equipped with flashing red lights, and she couldn't look at them for long without feeling a little dizzy. She knew they were vehicles of some type since they had wheels and she'd seen cars before, but these were different. Clare tugged her from one to the other, asking questions as to who was on board. Finally, she pulled Daphne into one after arguing with the men that seemed to be fixing someone up in the hollow back of the car.

Lying on some sort of table was someone that Daphne instantly recognized. Or, more honestly, it did take her a moment, because half of the girl's face was mangled. Like Michael, Mackenzie wasn't breathing, and the medical hands - Daphne learned later that they were called paramedics - were trying to revive her.

The doors closed in the back of the ambulance, someone beat a couple times on it, and the siren - a noise Daphne hadn't ever heard before - started wailing. She and Clare were pushed to the back of the crowded little room, and there was the distinct feeling that neither of them really belonged there. Soon, they were moving, and despite the fact that Daphne wanted to know what had happened, she found herself quite ill and spent most of her time trying not to be sick.

Clare, she noticed, was clinging to the sleeve of her torn robe, trying not to look as if she were concerned with what was going on with Max. The stressed expression she wore, though, despite her best efforts, gave it away. Daphne didn't even know that Clare knew the girl.

One of the paramedics tapped on the window and spoke with the driver, and the siren suddenly stopped.

As the vehicle stopped, a loud, monotonous beep began to sound through the box, and Daphne stared at Clare, wildly clutching the taller girl's sleeve. Why was everything wailing and beeping and making these noises! She wanted to know what was happening, because this was all completely foreign to her, but Clare was just staring ahead blankly, and she was finding herself too alarmed to string together a sentence. The man who had been putting those zap-sounding things against Mackenzie stopped and drew the sheet that was covering the lower half of her body up over her face.

"She saved me," Clare said softly. "She saved me." The taller girl continued to stare dazedly at the sheet that now covered the once gentle girl's face.

The paramedic who had pulled the sheet over Mackenzie's face turned to them, biting his lip. "I'm sorry, girls."

"What's... what's happening?" Daphne asked, turning from Clare to the man. Clare looked away, starting to sag heavily against Daphne.

"She died..." Clare said hoarsely. "She died to save me."

She was crying, just like Pansy had been. What was going on?

Dead? That's what that meant? Why would the... And the siren... After a moment of sitting there without moving, the ambulance started again, much slower now, toward the hospital. 

Mackenzie couldn't be dead! Daphne reached into her pocket for her wand before remembering that... Magic was gone. Which came as another shock all together. The fact that the last spell she'd cast had been a rather nasty one she shouldn't have even known would stick in her memory for a long time.

But Max, the shy girl that never could raise a hand nor her voice against anyone, was dead. Clare was crying, and Daphne, still clueless as to what half of the things in this box-shaped car were, was also crying. One of the paramedics - whom Daphne noticed was wearing the robes of a mediwizard - stepped over to them, putting a hand on their shoulders. He didn't say anything, though, but she was glad he was there, because even as Clare and Daphne were comforting each other, the car seemed to feel completely cold and unwelcoming. It wasn't a place to grieve. It wasn't a place where they should be remembering with startling clarity everything they'd had to do to defeat Voldemort.

The worst part, ironically enough, was that there was no one left to blame. The Dark Lord was dead, his Death Eaters without magic. Daphne wanted to avenge the young Ravenclaw's death, but even though she felt she could now cast the Killing Curse a hundred times, it would never happen.

That face... That young face covered by the sheet... It wouldn't ever get any older.

When the ambulance stopped again, the wizard who was trying to comfort them said quietly, "There's a ward that's been set aside for you on the third floor. We'll need to check you out and make sure you're okay.

The man helped them both down from the back of the box and onto the sidewalk in front of the glass doors leading into the hospital. Daphne couldn't seem to move or think or do anything. Max was dead in the back of that box, and nothing was ever going to bring her back. It was... Well, she'd seen death, but this was Max! She'd seen her die, and it just didn't connect. Nothing was connecting. It just wasn't fair!

She wasn't sure how it was that she ended up in that waiting room. In retrospect, she decided she must have been pointed along as she led Clare through the hospital. Maybe a nurse had led them both. However it was, she did eventually end up in the waiting room sitting beside Clare. A nurse offered them both a box of Kleenex and bottles of water, which Daphne took gratefully. Her mouth hurt, chafing from the tears.

She probably would have continued to sit there in absolute shock if it hadn't been for the arrival of a very white Terry Boot and Seamus. Seamus looked excited, but Terry--the most stoic Ravenclaw of all--looked like he was going to cry. Seamus had both arms around him as they stumbled over, and the Irish boy managed to drop him down into a chair beside Daphne.

"Both of them," Terry kept muttering to himself, staring down at his clasped hands. Seamus grabbed a metal chair and pulled it up, taking both Terry's hands in his own. Somehow Daphne began to fear the worst.

"Both...? Both?" she said, starting to sound hysterical.

"Shh," Seamus said quietly. "Goldstein and Corner are both fine. Goldstein's already been fixed up good as ever. Corner's still in surgery, though. Whatever he did, he did it good! I reckon the doctors--" The Irish boy looked from Daphne to Terry (both of whom were glaring at him rather violently. "Er, sorry. We rode with Goldstein, but he's fine, so don't worry about him."

"Would you just tell me about Michael?" Daphne asked lowly, trying her best to not strangle Seamus.

"Chang went with him. They even let 'er in with him on account that she's trained as a healer. She talked with us a minute ago. Didn't understand a bleedin' thing she said, though."

Obviously, Terry was too numb to have even tried.

Seamus continued. "Sure an' she was talkin' fast about tonnes of things. Something about hemragin' and defilters and all sorts of nonsense you couldn't imagine. She reckons it'll take a bit o' time before he's fit to be out of the doctor's hands, but she thought he'd be all right," he said with a nod, obviously too oblivious to what had actually happened to really be able to worry--if he'd even worry about that prick Corner in the first place, Daphne thought wryly. "I reckon your one's lucky, he is. Sure an' it seemed like he was about to snuff it again... Er, maybe I should just go ask the nurse how he is," Seamus said, looking rather alarmed at the look he was getting now from his boyfriend and former rival.

However, it did seem that Terry had managed to throw off the catatonic mumbling. He sighed and shook his head as the Irish boy fled.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking at the two girls and their tear streaked faces.

Daphne looked at Clare, but the taller Slytherin just shook her head, placing it in her hand and closing her eyes. A couple more tears fell.

Turning to Terry, Daphne stared into his eyes for a while. All she could think about were all the things she probably wouldn't remember otherwise about Mackenzie. The journeys to Hagrid's hut to take care of the animals, the girl's smile, the conversations they'd had about whatever... They'd been close. Not quite as close as Daphne and Clare, but they'd been friends, and on a nick-name basis, which was an honor Daphne reserved for few people. Once in a while, she'd slipped up and called the Ravenclaw 'Max.'

Terry was waiting expectantly, certainly dreading what he was about to hear. If it could make Clare cry, it couldn't be good. If it could make Daphne, who almost always had an opinion about everything, speechless, it couldn't be good. Terry's eyes narrowed when the short girl in front of him allowed her shoulders to slump.

"Daphne, what happened?" he asked. "Please, tell me."

Clare sniffled.

"Max died, Terry. She died saving Clare."

Before he had a chance to walk away or turn from her or whatever else the emotionally-controlled Ravenclaw would normally do, she grabbed him around his shoulders and pulled him toward her. He didn't resist, and did, in fact, pretty much fall into her arms. He wailed. It almost reminded her of the sirens, and Daphne, having spent too long attempting to be quiet, did, too. A third pair of arms joined them - Clare. And a fourth - Seamus - who'd returned just in time for Daphne's announcement.

People had to die. They all knew it. They all knew going in that everything wouldn't be okay and that some people would have to make that sacrifice. But when it was someone so close, someone that all of them called a friend on some level, it stung worse that Daphne could have ever imagined. She almost wished that Magic had lasted just long enough for that woman to end her life. That would have been so much easier than dealing with the fact that her and Max would never visit the Augurey by Hagrid's cabin ever again.


	18. Differing Viewpoints

**Chapter Eighteen**

The surgery let out sometime later. She wasn't sure how much time had passed before all three parties had pulled away, and Finnigan had rejoined them. They'd all sat in silence for some time, each lost in his or her own thought. At one point, a nurse came by and gave Daphne a bundle of suede. It had taken her a moment to realise it was Michael's jacket.

"The pretty Asian girl told me to give it to you."

She'd stripped out of her ripped up robes. She still had her school uniform on beneath--white blouse and linen skirt. When she put on the jacket, she was torn between the feeling of taking a first unwanted step into the Muggle world and the fact that it smelled like Michael, and even if there were rips and bloodstains here and there from their journeys, she could try and imagine that he was embracing her from behind. She must have drifted off, thinking this. The next thing she knew, a pretty young nurse with black hair in a tidy bun was addressing them.

"You may go in and see your friends, but one at a time please."

"I'll go see Anthony first," Terry said.

"Want me t'go with you?" Seamus asked quietly.

"I think I'll be all right," the now completely composed once again Boot replied with a shake of his head. 

"I'm just going to see Pansy," Clare said hoarsely, taking a drink from her water bottle and attempting to pull the same indifferent look that Terry had donned before she stood. Finnigan shrugged and dropped down into the lone seat Daphne had previously inhabited, looking like he was about to take a nap, which he probably was. Even Finnigan had to be emotionally exhausted after all that.

"Well, then, right this way, if you please," the nurse said, leading them down the hall. She held several charts in her hands. The hallways of the Intensive Care Unit (as Daphne had learned it was called) smelled funny. St. Mungo's had an unpleasant smell of malady, but... it smelled alive. This place seemed stale, overly clean, dead. Her hands crept up the sleeves of that over-sized jacket, and she hugged her arms to her chest, trying to remind herself that a hospital was also a place of life.

"First room--one-oh-five--Corner, Michael," the nurse said, looking at the chart and swinging the door open.

The first thing that caught her eye was the multitude of what she understood must have been television sets... And there were all these wires and tubes stretching all about to metal coat trees and off into boxes with blinking lights. In the background there an acute beeping sound, similar to that sound that had gone off when Max... She hugged herself tighter and stepped inside, at long last her eyes falling on the young man buried beneath all those incomprehensible things.

She was really scared for a lot of reasons. First of all because she couldn't recognize Michael at all, and second because there was so much _happening_ in the room that she couldn't discern one thing from another. She almost backed away, but the door was already closed leaving her in this room of Muggle things that made absolutely no sense to her. At least she knew why some wizards would take Muggle Studies now, though that fact seemed so distant now that it was bordering on unimportant.

A couple steps were taken further toward the bed, and she realized that there were all sorts of tubes and needles sticking into Michael's body! Weren't they trying to _help_ him, she wondered? How could sticking these things into him actually make him better? They looked like they didn't belong!

And she was part of this barbaric world now where you needed to hurt someone to help them. She stopped a few paces from the bed, and though her face felt numb she could tell that she was staring from the dryness in her eyes. How could she approach him? There didn't seem to be any sort of way around the wires and things which she really wanted to rip out and throw away.

Another step, and she could see his hand covered in bandages and more of those wires. Could she touch it and let him know she was there? Would he even be aware of her presense? Would it hurt him if she did? Outside the window, she could see a street with cars going by and a building in the distance with... She looked up. There were lights. Electricity.

Her world now.

Finally, she reached forward, touching his fingers as best she could without disturbing the wires and tubes that were attached to his hand.

It felt sort of clammy to the touch, and for a moment she thought maybe they had killed him after all, except there was this funny suction-like sound that seemed to accompany the rise and fall of his chest. If he was breathing, he must still be alive, right? She wrapped her hand around his middle finger, too afraid to take anything else, but also too alarmed to not grasp him at all. There was faint bruising around the tape in his wrists, and she wondered if they had shoved those tubes right into him. It just seemed... wrong.

At least it seemed that his skin had returned to its normal colour--maybe a little wan, but nothing like it had been when he'd been lying on the ground with those wide, luminous eyes looking into some other world that she didn't even want to contemplate at that moment. She just hoped it was good, because that's where so many of her friends were now.

She peeled her eyes away from his hand, up his arm where another bandage was wrapped, keeping his arm essentially straight. She could see the faint edge of green skin under the looser sections of that bandage, too. Once again, she couldn't help but feel this was all so twisted. Maybe they should have...

She shook her head. No, if they had, Michael really would be dead right now. She swallowed roughly, not sure why she was feeling so confused and at the brink of emotion, except she was exhausted and terrified and more stressed that she'd even been during the O.W.L.s, which, she thought bitterly, had been for naught after all.

Her eyes trailed up again, over the paper-looking gown covered shoulder to his face, which was scariest of all, because there was this big _thing_ there over his nose and it looked like one of the tubes was actually going into his mouth and she really didn't want to think of where it was going. For a moment, she considered ripping all these horrible Muggle things off him--they looked like parasites: disgusting slithering things that were burrowing into him--but she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

_Why_ did she have to be experiencing all these things alone?

"Michael," she whimpered, allowing herself a moment of weakness. "Make it be okay."

She waited for him to move, but he didn't, still silent as ever except for the beeps and hisses of the machines around her. Michael certainly wasn't about to make everything okay again, not how he was. As she looked back down at his hand, her other hand went into the pocket of the coat she was now wearing. Before she'd thrown out her robe, she'd retrieved her wand. It was useless now, but it felt good to be in contact with it. Like a security blanket and a tie to what she considered normal. All this was so alien.

When she looked back up at his face, she could see that he was staring at her. For a moment, her pulse quickened; he still looked nothing like he should, except for those almost lifeless eyes which were just open enough so that she could see the black irises.

He just stared. Didn't move, didn't give any other indication that he was awake - or even alive - except for the fact that he blinked after a very long time.

It was like her dream almost, when he'd been waiting for her in the great hall but hadn't responded to her at all except to look at her, just like he was doing now.

She could feel herself shaking, trembling now and then with fear she hadn't ever really experienced before. Was everything going to be okay? She couldn't tell anymore since there wasn't any black and white. They were trapped in a Muggle Grey Area, and Michael's eyelids were drooping.

"Mikey, don't go."

His eyes were open again, staring. He could hear her! He was responding!

Those dark eyes watched her blankly for a moment, blinking slowly, as though he was struggling to keep them open, before they started to roam over all the contraptions stuck to him. His brows furrowed faintly at that. He kept blinking, as though it was a constant battle to remain conscious for even a minute. His eyes moved a little more quickly as they traced the lines from his wrist and chest and mouth off into the maze of machinery behind and on the other side of the bed. If she didn't know better, this seemed to scare him, but whatever the Muggles had done to him, the drowsiness seemed to overpower the panic.

His eyes returned to her, staring at her with that same sort of shocked silence that had also accompanied her dream, and once again, she felt a trill of horror run through her. If she hadn't been so tired, if she hadn't have seen Mackenzie die before her eyes, then she would have realised he just didn't know why he was in a Muggle hospital strapped to a gazillion gadgets and beeping grids.

His brows furrowed in earnest, and she followed his gaze to where she was clenching his finger so hard it was turning purple. She softened her grip, and she felt his hand twitch just slightly under her own. The pained look was replaced by a sort of quizzical expression. His hand flinched again, and the thoughtful look started to ebb back into panic. Those dusky eyes jumped back to her face, looking confused and demanding.

"Hey, settle down." Though she was feeling a bit better now that he seemed to be at least a bit responsive, Daphne's voice still trembled. She didn't know why he was looking at her like that or what it meant that his hand was flinching. Instead, she finally took his hand in hers, wires and things be damned. If they didn't want her to knock them out, they shouldn't have let her in the room! Oddly enough, they stayed in.

It was easy enough to guess that he wasn't able to talk, and so she started imagining the questions he might be asking. "He did it. Potter did it. There's no more magic. The Dark Lord is dead. The..." What else would he want? He was still looking at her as if she'd done something wrong!

She felt his hand twitch again, and she let go of it, wondering what she'd done that he didn't want her in the room. He didn't think it was her fault, did he? She backed away, but stopped when his eyes widened. It looked like he was afraid.

Her hand reached forward for his again, but the door opened, and a nurse came in carrying something in a bag. Something clear and yellowish, which she started attaching to the metal hat-rack type thing. It was after this was done and she was taking the old one off that she turned to Michael and noticed he was awake.

"Good, you're back with us," she said cheerily, turning to Daphne. "You are--"

"I'm..." She looked back at him. 'his girlfriend' didn't seem important enough, and she wanted to stay in the room with him if she could. Finally, she answered, "I'm Daphne. We're engaged."

...The look in Michael's eyes when she said that mildly cathartic. He went from surprise to a lazy-eyed stare in seconds. There was nothing really indicating how he felt about Daphne's admission, but hopefully he wouldn't be too offended if...

"Can I ask you to wait outside for a little while, Daphne? We're just going to take some vitals before he goes back to sleep." A few other nurses were arriving, followed by another woman who looked to have once been a mediwitch, followed by Cho. As Daphne hesitantly backed toward the door, Cho hugged her, which was surprising, to say the least.

"We'll take care of him, alright? Don't worry."

And then she was practically shoved into the hall by the nurses, and the door was closed.

"He's okay?" Hermione Granger asked. She'd been leaning against the wall outside his room apparently. Daphne hadn't even seen her.

"I think he will be. I hope. I just..." She smiled a little, because it a way, it was funny. "...Just told the nurse we were engaged."

Hermione's surprised expression was also tension-relieving. "...I didn't know."

"Neither did I," Daphne admitted, and then she wasn't quite sure why, but she started crying and couldn't really force the tears to stop.

Well, it seemed that Gryffindors were Gryffindors for a reason, because without any prompt or hesitation, Hermione hugged her. Not just hugged her, but stroked her hair and started talking in all this nice nonsense that, as she tried to focus in on it, helped her to get ahold of her self once again. She sniffled, pulling away and wiping her eyes on the baggy sleeves.

"I think I know what you were feeling," Hermione said softly. "I just saw Ron and Harry... Ron," she paused and sighed. Then she shook her head, putting her chin out and standing up straight again. "Well, they tortured him badly. He probably won't walk correctly again, but he _can_ walk. Harry's been waking up on and off. He had to have a blood transfusion, but they say that it was a good match, so he'll be all right, too. I... also told the nurse..." Granger was turning bright red at the moment, looking away. "...that I was Ron's fiancee so she wouldn't throw me out."

"But she did anyways," Daphne supplied, chuckling softly through her hiccups.

Hermione nodded, her face "Weasley red." She cleared her throat, returning to her normal demeanor of calm and collected analytical prowess. "Why don't we go down to the cafeteria. I'll tell you what happened to us, if you tell me what happened to you. We'll get the others from the lobby. They must be famished, too."

Daphne nodded and allowed herself to be led away by Granger.

They were just about to the lobby when Hermione put her hand out and gently tugged back on Daphne's shoulder. "About what I said in the library. You're not."

Daphne wiped her eyes again. "Yes I am. Come on. They'll wonder where we are."

It felt good to hear that from Granger, even if Daphne herself couldn't see herself as being very brave. She did what she had to do. She protected herself when it was necessary. It was all for her. All of it. Not really, but she couldn't afford now to get sentimental over the fact that she'd refused to leave Pansy until she was okay. She couldn't admit that she went to the Ministry in the first place because Michael and Clare were in danger of losing their minds - literally. No, it had all been for herself. All of it.

Clare and Terry were back in the lobby along with Seamus, who was still dozing a bit. Zacharias Smith had joined them, and was sitting with his head down between his knees, hands clasped behind his head. Sitting next to him and not exactly being any sort of comfort - but not wearing any sort of disdainful expression - was Draco. Energy too spent to do anything but smile at him, Daphne did. She was surprised when he forced one back.

"What's going on?" she asked, noting that the others seemed to be crowding around the former Hufflepuff.

"Macmillan got himself killed," Draco said.

Ow. Somehow that hurt almost as much as Mackenzie. It was like if Seamus had died... Actually, she probably would have been more upset than she'd like to admit if the Irish Gryffindor had not survived. She was tempted to touch the Hufflepuff's shoulder, but he had never been overly fond of that sort of thing, so she kept her hands to herself.

Sensing the return to gloom, Hermione cleared her throat. "Right. Off to the cafeteria with _everyone_. Including you, Malfoy," she added as Draco gave her a disdainful look. However, he must have been hungry, because he did get up and start heading in that direction. The others shuffled after them, even Smith, who Hermione gently began to lead along. By this point, Daphne couldn't be surprised at Hermione's innate sense of leadership.

They all filed into the cafeteria that had food that... Well, Daphne had never seen anything so unappealing. Neither had Draco, apparently, because he went to sit at a table with nothing but a bottle of water. She stared at it all before choosing some wobbly green cubes in a bowl and going to sit beside him. The others soon joined with varying states of food. Hermione had placed a bowl of what seemed like some sort of chicken stew in front of Zacharias who simply began stirring it over and over blankly. She sighed and turned to the others.

"So Daphne and I," she said, gesturing to the Slytherin girl. "Thought it would be good to hear all the sides of this story. Daphne, do you want to start? Since you were the first group, of course..."

Daphne felt on the spot. Everyone - even Zacharias - was looking at her. She nodded though, taking a deep breath and poking at the green things with a plastic fork. She'd never really considered plastic as fork material before, mostly because she'd never considered plastic to exist. She chanced a taste... They really weren't that bad. Either that, or she was really hungry.

"We... Well, it wasn't..." She shook her head. "Sorry, I don't know where to start. We got to the lifts and that's when the Death Eaters apparated in.

Draco tensed. Daphne looked at him, but he shook his head. "Since you've all not shut up about it, my father wasn't even there."

Daphne took the silence that followed to mean she should continue. "We were trapped in that hall... Pansy and Anthony were injured... We saw _Him._" She looked at Hermione, who was actually giving her an exasperated look. "...V-- Vold-- We saw him. He apparated down, and the Death Eaters followed. So did we.

"I don't know what I did, but... I just... I couldn't even see right. If it was wearing a hood, I attacked. It was just chaos. Then this wall came up, and I was backed against it. Somewhere along the line, Michael must have apparated in. There was this woman there that kept casting the Cruciatus Curse on everyone..."

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Draco supplied through clenched teeth.

"Her," Daphne continued. "She... Michael... He was screaming, and I didn't know it was him at first." She looked down at the bowl, silent for a while until Draco - who seemed to want to know the story, too - elbowed her. "Er... Michael. He fell into the wall, and there was this bright flash of light--"

She was cut off by the astonished syllables from both Hermione _and_ Draco.

"That's what shorted out that shield Voldemort had around the weapon!" Hermione exclaimed.

"What are you talking about?" Daphne demanded.

"Do you mind if I go next, Zacharias? Clare?" Hermione asked kindly. Both shook their heads, staring silently into their bowls of soup. Clare had apparently chosen cereal. Must have been comfort food for her. At any rate, taking this as her cue, Hermione continued, uninterrupted.

"Harry, Ron, and," she paused, eyeing the blonde Slytherin for a moment before clearing her throat and very quickly uttering his name, "Draco got there first, of course. Professor Lupin and," she paused, looking somewhat choked up for a moment, "Tonks and Ginny and I weren't far behind, though. Harry had already found the room with the weapon, but he didn't know how to make it work. No one did, not even Dumbledore. So they were all gathered around it and..." She actually chuckled, "...and he and Draco and Ron were bickering about how it worked. So then we tried all various spells to get it to do _anything_, but of course they didn't work.

"We didn't know, but the reason was because Voldemort," she said his name strongly, "had managed to have a Death Eater slip in and put a shield that he had prepared around it. I don't really understand how that part worked, even now," she admitted, looking annoyed with herself. "What happened was that Harry started to try and pick it up, but then this grid of light appeared all around it and... it hit him really hard." She paused, taking a drink of her juice. So that probably explained why Potter had needed blood.

"Things got really hectic after that. Voldemort suddenly appeared. He didn't have any Death Eaters with him, but... Well, Tonks, she tried to save Harry," she sniffled, dabbing her eye with her napkin. "He killed her instantly. He was going to kill all of us. Harry was badly injured, but he still got up and tried to fight alongside Professor Lupin and Draco. Ron and Ginny and I... we were _trying_ to find a way to break the shield so we could get close enough to the orb to get it to Harry. Voldemort kept forcing Harry against the barrier, and..." She shook her head, as if it were too much to consider just then what the now passed evil had done to the Boy Who Lived. "Well, that's when _it_ happened."

"Don't be so dramatic, Granger," Draco said, reaching over to Daphne's bowl to take one of the little green cubes. She didn't argue, mostly because he was probably in a really bad mood.

"Fine, fine. The shield around the orb, well, it exploded. A bright flash. There was a bit of... Well, the light, one bit of it went right through Harry, and the other got Ginny's arm. It's in bad shape, but she'll be fine... Anyway, I guess that's about when Michael might have fallen into the shield. I think he must have broken something."

Daphne looked down at the table. She still didn't know if Michael would even be okay. It was comforting, at least, to know that he'd accidentally done something right.

"Potter grabbed the orb," Draco said. "It was really light, I guess. He must have realized it, because he just smashed it against the floor as hard as he could. That was stupid, of course. It could have had some sort of ward on it. Then The Dark Lord would have just been able to pick it up."

"But it shattered," Hermione interrupted, continuing. "Lord Voldemort died. Right there. He just fell over... He was alive by magic, though, so that's why. All the magic..."

"We know," Draco and Daphne said together as Daphne poked at another green cube. Magic was dead. Daphne herself felt a bit dead.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Clare spoke up. Her voice was a bit rusty. "I'd like to tell you what happened to Mackenzie," she said. No one said anything to stop her, so she went on. "Her and I, we ended up back to back in this room with all these blue candles in it. We were confused... Didn't know where we were going to go. The Death Eaters showed up then, and we fought. We had to, though I don't think she ever cast anything. It was annoying, in a way." Clare smiled a bit and wiped at her eyes. "Felt like I was doing all the work and she was just benefiting from the protection, you know?"

"That sounds like Max," Daphne murmured, her own voice threatening to crack.

Clare seemed to purposefully ignore that as she continued. "It was much too crowded in that room. We had those Order members with us, but two of them were killed almost instantly..."

Zacharias lifted his head, "Ernie was, too. You know his leg was useless, but he came with us anyways. He must have known. He couldn't move fast enough, so he tried to shield us--Finnigan and me and himself--against the Killing Curse, but then he just ended up taking all of it..." The blonde trailed off, turning back to his untouched soup. Hermione gently put a hand on his shoulder.

Daphne glanced over at Seamus who was nodded as solemnly as she'd seen him do since they'd gotten on those box cars.

"We tried to hold them off, like Lupin said," Clare continued. "Because we knew we were the last thing between the others and Vol...de...mort," she mumbled the last bit. "He... came right through us, as though we were nothing at all. He did something--I don't know what--to that Weasley brother... Well, it was awful. He didn't even seem amused by it. He didn't care at all!" Clare said, her voice rising as her hands clenched on the table.

"But we managed to keep the Death Eaters following him back," Terry supplied softly.

Clare nodded, regaining what composure she could muster. "I'm not sure what happened after that. There was all this fighting, and I was trying to protect Spinks, and then she was pushing _me_ out of the way..." Clare took a deep breath.

"She took a shot to her face, and she screamed. It was the most horrible... But a second later, the second spell hit. I don't know where, but she went down without a sound." She shook her head again and looked down at the table. "I just hated her so much then because she shouldn't have done that. And I hated _whomever cast it_ so much more. And maybe it was illegal, but I don't care. He deserved to die."

...Two of her Housemates had used the killing curse. Oddly enough, Daphne felt a surge of pride for Clare. Anyone that would think to hurt Max deserved to - as Clare said - die. There was no other acceptable punishment.

"And it was a war," Clare went on, her voice shaking now. Perhaps the admission that she'd used the killing curse was enough to stir up that little insecurity she'd been hiding. "It was a war, and we were losing, and I had to. I had to."

Terry, who had also comforted Pansy, leaned against her, offering himself as a comfort. He was good at that. Like Max, Terry seemed to be a good friend without asking questions. They were both quiet, though Max was only quiet because she was so shy. Terry just didn't have a whole lot to say.

It was Draco who spoke next, surprisingly, though it seemed forced in a way. Not because he didn't mean what he said, but because it wasn't something he would usually express. "They would have been great wizards," he offered simply, looking down at his folded hands.


	19. Perhaps I Will

**Chapter Nineteen**

It was unsettling at first. He would just lie in the hospital bed alone for hours staring at the tubes and wires and things sticking out of his body as though it wasn't his own. His throat ached, except the doctors kept injecting something into him that made even that not so bad. It seemed as though time was blurring, and he couldn't tell if it was stopping or going. He couldn't speak as long as that thing was down his throat--somehow he recalled from watching Muggle television that it was called a endotracheal tube--so he couldn't ask why he was here. It sort of vaguely occurred to him that if Potter had succeeded, magic must have ended, so St. Mungo's would be useless, but he still couldn't understand why _he_ was here in the first place.

Not only that, but he'd tried on several occasions--though doing it just once or twice made him feel so exhausted he'd pass out immediately afterwards--to move either hand, but all either would do was flinch slightly and remain still. His arms were essentially immobile, held straight by IVs running every which way. He'd tried his feet, and his toes had moved, so he figured that must mean he could move his legs, but he couldn't get his hands to work. Not once. It made him want to cry in desperation, but if he got excited, the nurses would come in and do things to him that would make him fall asleep.

They wouldn't tell him what was wrong with him or why he had to stay there or how his body had become this damaged. While he was staring at those tubes and listening to those beeps and feeling the respirator force air in and out of his chest, he realised that he would most likely die if he wasn't hooked up to all this mess. And he was afraid... afraid that he would be living like this forever. If that was the case, whoever had saved him really should have just let him die.

He tried to entertain himself with thoughts about Quidditch matches past and Hogsmeade weekends and theories behind spells, but they all depressed him, because he'd hear a car outside, and he'd be reminded that he would never live in that world again. 

He admittedly slept a lot that week. He'd even missed two or three of Daphne's visits. He didn't understand why it took so long for the Muggle medicine to fix him. Daphne had nearly died before his eyes, and she was up and running around in a week--possibly that was last week, but he couldn't keep track of time to tell anymore. What was this useless world he was stuck in? The worst part was that _he_ was useless in this pointless reality. He couldn't even breathe on his own, and he couldn't talk to anyone or hold Daphne's hand when she came in, nor wave at Anthony or Terry when they made their brief, sporadic rounds.

He wasn't sure how long it took. Maybe a week, maybe a month, but finally one morning when he was staring out the window at the sunshine over the London rooftops, the nurses came in to remove the tube from his throat.

They knocked him out again, which was actually a good thing, because when he came to, he was in quite a bit of pain. But that thing on his face was gone, and he could move his mouth again, which he did so rather painfully. His chest also hurt a bit, but that was because he was breathing more on his own now. There were still tubes up his nose, which he barely even noticed anymore.

That's when he noticed that Daphne was there, curled up in the chair in the corner of the room wearing his coat. She was asleep.

He tried to say something to get her attention, but started coughing instead. That did the trick in a roundabout way, because she opened her eyes and blinked over at him. As soon as she was more awake, she stood, stepping up to the side of the bed and taking his hand. He could feel it, but he couldn't move his fingers to hold onto hers.

"Don't say anything quite yet. You might hurt yourself."

Easy for her to say, Michael thought, narrowing his eyes a bit. He noticed in the light through the window that her face was still slightly lined with pink scars. Would they ever heal now? It wasn't fair. She was so pretty.

She smiled at him, and he returned it as best he could. She looked relieved. "I can recognize you now. That's better. Barely knew it was you before."

He closed his eyes and swallowed a bit. It still hurt, but his throat wasn't so dry anymore. "Been here long?" he asked in a whisper.

"Oh, a while," she said. "Clare's here. Pansy's being released today. They may come by and say hello in a bit."

Raising his neck a bit, he looked down at his hand which she was holding. "I can't move my fingers," he said. Oddly enough, Daphne looked relieved at that, which was annoying.

"I thought maybe you... Just... I thought I'd done something." She arched her eyebrows, looking into his eyes. "...Kinda selfish, now that I say it."

He didn't mean to ignore her, really, but he had to know. "Why won't my hands work?" he asked. Suddenly she didn't look so relieved anymore as that sunk in.

"I don't know," she responded.

He had to stay calm, or the nurses would come back and do whatever it was they were doing that forced him to pass out, and then he'd never have any answers. He closed his eyes, willing himself to just not think about it.

"Daph," he said, eyes still shut, and his voice sounded too young even to himself, or maybe it was sounding so rough and new because of the long period of disuse; not that it mattered much either way... "Can you... Just curl them for me, okay?"

He knew that she must have been staring at him for a moment--shocked, perhaps horrified or disgusted by the tremble in his voice--but after a moment he felt a painful stretching as she curled his hand around her own. He could _feel_ her hand, which was a start, but he couldn't move his fingers or thumb, and it seemed even his wrist had limited flexibility. It didn't make sense... _Why_ was he like this? Why was he even _here_?

Perhaps she thought he had fallen asleep, because she took her hand off his own--the one that was keeping his fingers flexed around her (which of course caused them to limply move back to their natural position) and began to brush the hair from his face. He opened his eyes again, and he hadn't realised it before, but with that gesture he definitely did: he was having a hard time staying awake. Probably the effect of whatever the doctors had given him before.

When she noticed him studying her, she withdrew her hand quickly, hiding it in her sleeve in her lap. He wished she would curl his fingers around hers again, because even if it did hurt, it was comforting. He could feel his throat beginning to ache, and he knew he probably wasn't going to be able to talk much during this visit, so he decided to finally ask the question that had been plaguing him for the last... however much time had passed.

"Daph," he whispered, his voice breaking even with just that one syllable. "Why 'm I here? What hap'n'd...?" he forced out, his lungs feeling exhausted with the effort--they, too, now lacked the stamina required to speak and pump oxygen through his body after being assisted for so long. It was only aggravating his exhaustion, but he forced himself to keep his eyes on her face, waiting impatiently for her answer.

She looked confused at that, but she answered anyway, rolling her eyes back in thought. "You remember that wall?" she asked.

He nodded. How could he not? Sometimes he still saw the red glow when he closed his eyes.

"You don't remember what happened at all?"

He did remember the searing pain of what must have been an unforgivable curse, but he shook his head anyway simply because he didn't want to speak.

"Someone cast the Cruciatus Curse on you. Then you fell through that wall. There was a bright flash, and when I could see again, you were halfway through it. Then... Well, that's when Potter activated the weapon."

It still didn't explain why he was _here_ though. And he was about to say something about it, but Daphne went on.

"You weren't breathing. Your heart stopped." She looked at Michael then as if she were looking through him. "Your eyes were open. Cho and I... Well, you were dead, Michael. We didn't think there was anything we could do."

He felt cold. Was it cold in the room?

She continued. "I didn't know what to do. I just started beating on your chest. It... did something. And then Cho knew this thing where she breathed for you. She did that. Then you were breathing again. The ambl- Those things with the lights. They were there, and the doctors took you away." As if she was realizing something, she looked up into his eyes, her jaw slightly slack.

"There's... People died, Michael."

Instantly, he imagined Anthony or Terry. "Who, Daphne. Who died?"

He immediately regretted that exclamation, because he started coughing, lungs angrily biting back at his attempt to thwart their work. It took him a minute or two to stop coughing, and then he was breathing rapidly, nearly hiccupping as he tried to force the air back in.

"I'm going to call the nurse," Daphne said, already on her feet and reaching for the button on the other side of the bed. If only he could put a hand out to stop her, except he couldn't. Instead he begged. It was all he could do in this state.

"Please, don't," he wheezed. He felt his eyes start to roll back, unconsciousness threatening to overwhelm him, but he had to stay awake a little longer. He could process all these things--the lack of magic, his paralyzed hands, the red wall, his own apparent death, and the real deaths of others--later. He just needed the information _now_.

She looked torn, leaning over him, but it seemed that even if he was gasping softly, he had managed to control his breathing again, so she reluctantly drew back, though she didn't sit, instead leaning on her forearms just slightly to place her cheek against his chest.

"I never really tried it on another person," she murmured, closing her eyes as her cheek rose and fell unsteadily with his ribcage. He closed his eyes, trying to save the remnants of his strength.

"Besides the people we knew were dead at Hogwarts... At least three of the adults who were with us. I... didn't know their names," she paused, but he was too weary to open his eyes at the moment. "Anthony, Terry, Cho, and Finnigan... They're all fine. So is everyone who went with Potter except that one woman. No one in our group died, but... in the second group..." He forced them open at that, staring down at her, half-lidded, as he tried to anticipate who might have been killed out of that group. "Ernie and..." Tears started to streak down her cheek, and it was one of the few times in his life he'd seen her cry. What he wouldn't do to be able to wipe those tears away.

"And... Max," she sobbed.

Hearing that Max had died was almost worse than hearing that Terry or Anthony had. At least he was in some way _prepared_ to hear that, even if he still would have been sad. Even if the tears - which were now stinging his eyes - still would have fallen, nothing could have prepared him for hearing that Mackenzie died. Daphne must have known that he needed that hug, because she wrapped her arms around him, somehow managing to avoid knocking the wires and tubes out of place.

"She died saving Clare," Daphne went on. "So it was a good... It was... She... Draco said she would have been a good witch," she finished, drawing away. She realized that Michael couldn't dry his own tears, so she did it for him, taking a couple tissues from the box beside his bed. "Ernie died shielding people as well. If there's a place where people go when they die, they're being treated like royalty."

Michael finally spoke after a moment of shared silence between them. "It doesn't seem really fair, does it?" he asked almost inaudibly, looking up at the ceiling. Daphne dabbed at his eyes again... He felt so useless, but at the same time, he was glad Daphne was there. He didn't know where he'd be if he was alone.

"It's not. Not at all." She rubbed at her own eyes with the sleeve of the jacket she was still wearing and took Michael's hand. He couldn't imagine a world without Max. She was just so... There wasn't a word for it. She was so herself. She was so kind. He did wince a bit when Daphne curled his fingers around hers again, but he didn't mind it so much. "There's going to be a service for everyone back at Hogwarts," she went on, "Though I don't know when quite yet."

He nodded. It was a bit embarrassing to have his girlfriend blotting his tears and doing all these things for him... Well, embarrassing wasn't the right word. It was frustrating. It just reminded him of how useless he really was, except at least there was Daphne. A month ago, he would have never thought she would be hugging him and drying his tears and curling his damnable useless hand around her own. She would have scoffed at the thought. It was... nice to see, but he _wanted_ to be her equal.

"I hope they'll wait a bit," he said, trying to force a smile. "I wouldn't want to miss it." He had been in her for awhile. He was going to be in here for awhile, because the Muggles were useless at healing, at least in comparison. Still, that only served to agitate him, and Daphne was softly running her thumb over his own, so he really should just be thankful he was alive.

Just as he was sinking into further morbid thoughts, starting to drift out into unconsciousness again, there was a soft rap at the door, and Cho appeared. She looked a little flustered. The scene didn't look intimate, but it probably felt that way, and Michael had no doubt that it did bother his former girlfriend on some level; however, she seemed content to push it aside, just as she was her hair, flinging it softly over her shoulder as she walked to the end of the bed.

She picked up his chart and started idly flipping through it for a moment before she spoke. "I'm sorry... I heard some of your conversation," she said, looking pointedly at some page in the center of it all. "Michael, I know why your hands aren't functioning properly."

"Is it on that chart?" 

She shook her head and put the chart back. "No, but... well, I was with you on the ambulance and in the Ministry. Sometimes," she lowered her eyes for a moment, as though trying to gather strength from somewhere down by her feet, "Sometimes, if someone dies, you can bring them back, but the longer you wait... Well, Michael, it was so crowded in the Ministry that we couldn't get to you quickly. Then, in the ambulance, you... again, except they had the defibrillators, so they revived you immediately. You see, CPR doesn't really..." She trailed off and shook her head, her hair falling back over her shoulders. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that your brain did not have oxygen for several minutes, which has resulted in some minor brain damage."

Daphne was on her feet at that. "What? What do you mean 'brain damage'?" she all but shouted.

"His motor skills have been temporarily impaired," Cho replied evenly. "All it takes is physical therapy, and you'll be completely functional again."

"Is that really good news?" Daphne muttered just audibly. Michael was inclined to agree with her... He didn't like the sound of 'brain damage.'

"It is. It means that unlike some people," Cho replied, eyeing Daphne as though reminding her that she did know who some people were, though Michael couldn't even begin to guess what was transpiring between the two, "Michael should make a complete recovery. It will just take time. Oh, and I do have a spot of good news for you both. Dumbledore is digging up the families that went into hiding, including both of yours. They've both been apprised of your whereabouts, so no need to worry. You should be seeing them soon." Cho straightened then, reaching out to squeeze his foot gently from atop of the covers. "Maybe someday I'll tell you the rest, but for now... I'm glad you didn't die." And with that, she swept out of the room.

At the same time, a couple people were _entering._ Clare walked toward Michael's bed, looking backward as she did so. Tagging along behind was Pansy, who was leaning on a pair of crutches. She looked like she couldn't be unhappier, though she was trying.

Daphne smiled at them. Michael tried, but he was still mulling over that 'brain damage' thing.

"Thought we'd come say hello," Clare said, eying Michael. "We were here anyway."

"You haven't been?" Michael asked quietly.

"She has," Pansy nodded to Daphne. "The others have been staying in a hotel. That's where I'm going as soon as we leave."

Clare sat down in a chair across the bed from Daphne. "She tell you what happened yet?" Clare asked, not quite looking at Michael.

"Parts of it," he responded, his voice breaking in the middle. Maybe, he wondered, he shouldn't use it as much. On top of everything, he didn't want to lose the ability to speak, too. He wasn't even completely sure if he'd get back full use of his hands. He sure hoped so. Meanwhile, he didn't know whether to be angry at Clare or otherwise. Max had technically died because of her, and she and Michael had never gotten along. In fact, at Hogwarts, they'd fought almost constantly. Still...

He looked at her. "Can you take my hand?" 

She looked a bit startled, but not disgusted as he thought she would be. "Er... Why?"

"Just do it." When she had it, he added, "Now, shake it."

Very gently, she moved it up and down, then let go. Pansy was staring at them like they were both a little dense, but she didn't say anything. Michael nodded as much as he could. "Mackenzie saw something in you. There's no way I'm going to fault her for that. You think we can stop fighting now?"

Clare smirked, and it was the first time Daphne saw her looking like that in months. "Corner, you can't honestly expect me to drop all that so easily, can you?" The smirk slid into something more genuine. "I'd die of boredom." That said, a rather catty grin threatening to split her face, she gave him a wave, and she sauntered out of the room. Pansy just rolled her eyes.

"Glad you're better," she said, sounding rehearsed. "Now Daphne might actually leave this bloody place." Pansy smiled at Daphne in a way that seemed rather challenging, but Daphne returned it with a sort of good nature equivalency, and then Pansy, too, hobbled out of the room.

Which was good, because his voice was gone after that last question, and it hurt pretty badly. Not only that, but his vision was starting to swim. He closed his eyes and felt Daphne place his limp hand back beside him and pull up the sheets. As her hands rested on the sheets at his chest, she paused, and then very quickly leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. He blinked lazily at her.

"What was that for?" he mouthed. His voice was definitely gone.

She shook her head, and he could see her cheeks were getting a little pink... It reminded him of something. She might ignore what he was about to ask. It would be just like her to pretend she couldn't understand, after all. But he figured as long as he was asking all his questions, he might as well put that one out there, too. It might have been just a dream or a figment of his imagination, but if it was, she'd probably ignore it anyways, so no harm down.

"Daph," he managed just barely, and it sounded more like an exhalation than a word. She blinked down at him, pausing in her movements to gather herself and leave the room. The nurses would return any minute. "Are you my fiancee now?" he asked silently, giving her an incredulous grin. Her eyes widened for a moment, and then she busied herself suddenly tucking the sheets under him.

"Couldn't parse that, sorry," she replied hastily. "Ask me tomorrow."

He watched her hurry out of the room, presumably to catch up with Clare and Pansy, and the right side of his mouth twitched uncontrollably upwards. He would definitely be asking her again tomorrow.


	20. Umbrella Over them All

**Chapter Twenty**

It was a warm day at the beginning of July when they finally told Michael he could go. The air was nice... A lot less stale than he'd been breathing in the hospital. He still couldn't use his hands which was annoying, and he needed help with about everything. Better feeling was returning, though, and if he really concentrated, he could move his thumb sometimes on his left hand. The night before, he'd been complaining so much that Daphne had _tied his fork to his hand_ so he could try to eat by himself. After that failed miserably, he let her help him. It wasn't so bad, after all.

Anthony hadn't been released too much earlier. As it turned out, the worst part of the ordeal was the severe concussion he'd sustained when the spell threw him back against the wall. He was actually here, sitting next to Daphne with his arm draped around her. If it were anyone but Anthony, Michael might feel jealous, but the fact that his best friend was getting along with his girlfriend - possibly fiance - was enough so that Michael didn't care.

Daphne herself seemed to realize the lack of blood as status now, which was perhaps why she was more tolerant of Anthony. The other reason was probably that the former Prefect had taken it upon himself to get some Muggle clothes for her since she wouldn't leave the hospital. They were all black, which was somewhat his idea of a joke, but it was amazing how much Daphne appreciated the gesture. Lastly, he'd gotten her a black hooded sweatshirt, and somehow he'd found a Slytherin patch, which he'd gotten someone to stitch onto the front. She was wearing that now over a black t-shirt. Michael hoped she developed an interest in something other than black one day. He couldn't help thinking that she'd look really good in blue.

Or green.

"What I don't understand," Daphne said, flipping through the _Quibbler._ On the front cover, it said "LAST EDITION EVER" in big red letters, under which was printed "Until Next Month." It made Michael doubt the sanity of _all_ of Luna's family. "Well... do you remember those thestrals they had at St. Mungo's? I haven't figured out where exactly they came from. How they got there."

"Oh, that's easy," Anthony replied.

Michael leaned forward on the park bench to try and see past the open pages of Daphne's paper to Anthony. Nearby a couple of children were throwing a few colourful bean bags back and forth, a young woman was painting what might have been them (she hadn't asked, but she was set up looking in their direction), and at a nearby bench, Terry and Seamus sat. Terry was playing Muggle chess with an old man, and Seamus was muttering expletives and jumping excitedly whenever Terry took another piece. He seemed disappointed that the pieces weren't smashing each other to bits.

Anthony slipped his arm away Daphne's shoulders and stood, stretching slowly so that two teenage girls passing by on skates nearly ran into a lamppost. Michael shook his head and pulled one hand out of the pockets he'd asked Anthony to stick them in. He didn't want to walk around with his hands flopping every which way, after all. He dropped the hand down onto Daphne's knee and with carefully controlled effort managed to get three of the fingers to curl a little.

"Well, are you going to keep us in suspense forever?" he asked his friend, raising an eyebrow.

"Luna and Ginny couldn't actually apparate," Anthony replied, dropping one arm to his side while the other went to muss his own hair. "They were underage, remember? However, Potter had given Ginny a piece of this mirror that he could use to communicate with her. The truth of the story was this: after Ron was taken, Harry had run after the Death Eaters. He managed to catch one, and... Well, let's just say he got a bit of information out of him before the bastard could disapparate. He had shouted it back to those who were following him, and so that's how the rest of us knew. Only, Luna and Ginny couldn't. It may have seemed like they disappeared, but in reality they ran down to where the thestrals were being kept.

"They were going to use the thestrals to find Harry, except one of the thestrals was too injured to fly for long, so instead they decided to go to St. Mungo's and see if there was any word of Harry there. When they got there, though, Harry activated the mirror, and so they left the thestrals there to go meet him outside. You know, he's a really good teacher. He never thought he was, but he is," Anthony mused.

"So he taught them how to apparate," Michael offered, and Anthony nodded.

Daphne caught their attention with the rustling of her paper. "Lovegood's written a special section about us. It talks about the survivors and the deceased. Sounds like a, 'What they're doing now' sort of thing. Want to hear it?"

Anthony appeared to be distracted by a girl in platform tennis shoes and a mini skirt with smiley faces patches all over it, but he nodded faintly.

"Go ahead," Michael replied.

"The article starts with the people that died," Daphne said, looking over the paper. "There's a few here I don't think any of us know. First one's a bit shocking, though.

"Rubeus Hagrid, groundskeeper and instructor at Hogwarts for quite some time--" She paused in her reading. "'Quite some time?' You'd think he could get his facts straight when he... Anyway. Rubeus Hagrid, groundskeeper and instructor at Hogwarts for quite some time met his end defending Harry Potter from the Dark Magic of the most powerful wizard we've known in centuries. He will be remembered fondly by his students." She glanced over some of the article.

"Hagrid died?" Michael wondered rhetorically. Anthony, who was now paying rather close attention, was looking at the ground.

"Nymphadora Tonks, Order of the Phoenix member and Metamorphmagus, also died defending Harry Potter. She was known as an exciting young woman with an excessive love for life." Daphne went on, smiling a little. That had been the woman that had the oddly-colored hair. She read off a few other names - mostly people they didn't know, before getting to another they recognized. "Ernie Macmillan, Hogwarts Prefect for Hufflepuff, 1996 - 1999. According to reports, he died shielding other Hogwarts students from the Killing Curse. Blaise Zabini." She paused again, leaning over on Michael as she read about him. "...Was known for his temper especially. He died in the initial attack on Hogwarts. Stella Fawcett who was well-liked among the boys in her class, died in the initial attack on Hogwarts." She went on to read a few more names of people they knew, and then, "Mackenzie Spinks, endearingly called a jinx by some that knew her, turned out to be an angel in disguise when she shielded one of her classmates from a deadly curse. She was well-liked by all."

They were silent for a while, then Michael said, "It seems a bit strange that that little paragraph is all they are anymore." 

"Hey, it's not," Anthony said, sitting down again next to Daphne. "Long as we knew 'em, that counts for something, I'd say. What'd they say about us, Daph?"

She smiled, rolling her eyes. "They started with Potter, of course. Harry Potter daringly ventured into the deepest bowels of the Ministry of Magic, accompanied by both friends and rivals that might never have allied with him had the situation not been so dire. It all worked out for the best, though, as we all knew it would have. After activating the very weapon which caused the Dark Lord to meet his demise, he spent a bit of time in the hospital before joining the Muggle World. Now he has been serving as a counselor for wizards who have no idea what to do with themselves. Staff reporter Luna Lovegood asked Harry what he thought of cheese. Harry responded with 'I think it's all right.'" Daphne chuckled, handing the paper to Anthony. "You read a bit."

Anthony cleared his throat and adjusted the paper before continuing. "The Boy Who Lived plans to continue his work towards helping wizards and witches integrate into Muggle society accompanied by his two best friends and fian--" Anthony paused, blinking. "Ginny and Harry...? Ginevra Weasley Potter? That's a terrible name," he said, shaking his head.

"Would you rather it was Ginevra Weasley Goldstein. I think that's even worse," Michael teased.

Anthony reached over and slapped him gently on the back of the head before continuing. "Potter wishes to thank Sirius Black, the once thought of felon but now posthumously honoured member of the Order of the Phoenix. Sirius Black was Harry Potter's godfather in life, and a close friend of his parents and Professor R. J. Lupin. Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley have been appointed co-counselors to his cause. Hermione Granger continues her work towards the liberation of House Elves. She continues to disbelieve the existence of Orlicks. King Ronald Weasley is--in his spare time--attempting to reorganise Quidditch so that it can continue in some form in the Muggle World. He has created a Quidditch association, of which Seamus Finnigan, Oliver Wood, Zacharias Smith, Roger Davies, and Cho Chang are all notable board members. Cho Chang does believe in Orlicks." He paused, shaking his head. "Lovegood is a strange one."

"Keep going."

"Cho Chang is pursuing work in Muggle medicinal fields. When asked about the treatment of Orlicks in Ireland, she responded with, 'I have no idea.' A troubling thought indeed. She continues to try and help other wizards and witches who desire to continue in healing to integrate into the Muggle medical system," Anthony turned the page. "You read for a bit, Michael," he said, handing the paper over to Daphne, since Michael couldn't hold it. She held it up for him to read.

"Terry Boot has decided to pursue a career in pharmaceutics. He will be attending a Muggle university in the fall. His partner Seamus Finnigan and Finnigan's longtime friend Dean Thomas have opened a book shoppe specialising in both Magical and Wizarding sports in Diagon Alley across from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Dean Thomas is commonly known as the 'really attractive man at the cashier stand,' according to one Miss Merry Boot," Michael chuckled at that. "Poor Terry. He better watch out for those Gryffindors. They seem to do well with the Boot family."

Anthony and Daphne rolled their eyes simultaneously. "Don't stop."

"The next section is about Susan Bones," Michael continued, clearing his throat softly.

"Despite the fact that practical magic as we know it has come to an end, the curse on Susan Bones' voice seems to be permanent. She still can't speak, though she is learning Muggle sign language so she can easily communicate. There is hope that a cure will eventually be found, but until then, she has decided to go into working with deaf children in hopes that they will find comfort in knowing that their mentor can't speak. When asked about her condition, she remained silent and waved her hands a lot. Then she wrote down the following: 'There's no use in being discouraged about it, is there?'"

"Hufflepuffs," Daphne commented. Michael continued.

"This part's about us," he said, smirking a bit. "Anthony Goldstein is undecided in his career path, though he plans to attend a Muggle university to see where that takes him. He was quite badly injured in the battle at the Ministry, though he's doing fine now as it was only his head that suffered any great damage. Friend Michael Corner, while still recovering in intensive care - this must have been written a while back," he noted, "has also been thinking of attending University after physical therapy, at least while Hogwarts is being rebuilt. Professor Dumbledore has offered the former Ravenclaw a position as a History of Magic professor. As reported before, Hogwarts will be turned into a Muggle school for the children of wizarding families. Alongside learning about maths and sciences, they will also study subjects such as History of Magic and Astronomy. As the ghosts have disappeared, the position of History of Magic instructor is currently open." Michael paused, smiling at the others. "I took the offer, by the way," he remarked before going on.

"Daphne Greengrass, having never had any exposure to the Muggle world, seems to be fitting in well enough, though she's taken to wearing all black. She claims this is because it feels most like her school robes, but my sources say she just can't handle all that color. It's reported, too, that she walks around with her eyes closed."

Daphne grunted and folded up the paper enough so that Michael couldn't read anymore. Anthony laughed, but she ignored him and continued. "Daphne plans on possibly attending a Muggle university when she learns a bit more about living without magic. There, she will study veterinary medicine until Hogwarts is rebuilt, where she will become the new professor of Care of Magical Creatures alongside ex-Hogwarts professor Grubbly-Plank, who will remain with her for a couple years until she is certain of what she's doing." Turning the page, she continued.

"In lieu of his incurable blindness, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore has appointed Minerva McGonagall the new headmistress of Hogwarts upon its reopening. Professor Dumbledore plans to retire to the Bahamas where he plans to enjoy the peace and quiet. McGonagall will be assisted by Severus Snape, who will be teaching..." Daphne paused, shaking her head, "_Chemistry_ at the new Hogwarts." She blinked at the pages. "I wonder when he learned...?"

"Well, it's not all that different, is it?" Michael remarked.

Anthony looked like he was about to add something which would not have been especially nice about the former potions professor, but he held his tongue, instead eyeing a couple of girls by a nearby ice cream stand. 

Daphne continued. "Well, I guess it doesn't really matter. Anyways, Zacharias Smith, aside from working to rebuild the once popular wizarding sport, has decided to pursue a higher certificate in Muggle education with an interest in banking. He says he would like to open an exchange company that would put Wizarding money into Muggle money. He plans to call it the Macmillan Foundation."

"That's rather sporting of him, isn't it?" Anthony remarked.

"Nice thought, though," Michael replied, nudging Daphne with his shoulder to keep her going.

"Draco Malfoy," Daphne paused, chuckling. "Draco Malfoy, the wealthy heir of Lucius Malfoy, plans on writing an autobiography of the terrible tortures he had to endure, including, as he quotes, 'Having to spend time with Potter.' Rumour has it he will also be going into ferret breeding, having an interest in albino ferrets."

"Sounds like something Weasley put her up to," Michael smirked.

"His father, former Death Eater Lucius Malfoy, remains missing to this day. Malfoy (junior) intends to take care of his mother and himself during the creation of his novel by going into what Muggles call, 'Investment banking.' His ferret farm is sure to get lots of proceeds to go towards this."

Anthony was trying to keep from laughing. Daphne elbowed him with a reproving frown.

"Neville Longbottom, like Cho Chang, intends to enter into a career of medicine. After damaging his legs in the final battle at the Ministry, he has become very interested in physical therapy. He hopes to one day open his own practise. In his spare time, he and his grandmother are taking care of Frank and Alice Longbottom: former members of the Order who were grievously injured in," Daphne paused and took a breath, "Voldemort's first rise to power."

They were all silent for a moment, contemplating the weight of Voldemort's demise. The fact that people were saying his name now, people such as Daphne who were previously terrified to utter the first syllable, spoke volumes.

"The next bit's about Clare and Pansy."

"Clare is one of my favorite people, you know," Anthony said, lifting the paper out of Daphne's hands. Michael hid a smirk. The reality of the situation was that Clare, who couldn't stand men, had almost strangled Anthony on many different occasions.

Anthony cleared his throat dramatically. "Ahem. Clare Rivers, after spending several days as a rather lovely potted plant," (Daphne snickered.) "was also in the final battle at the Ministry. She was able to make it out mostly unscathed, but not unaffected, by the battle. She's quite interested in retroactively studying the effects of curses on the body and has shown a bit of interest in areas of scientific study. When asked if she had anything more specific to add, she told the reporter to kindly get lost." Anthony looked up at the other two. "Sounds about like Clare, I'd say." Michael nodded.

"Pansy's next?" Daphne asked.

"Yeah... Pansy Parkinson, having been rather well-off before the final battle, has shown little interest in pursuing a career that would force her into the Muggle world. She couldn't be reached for comment in person, but she replied via Owl Post, saying quite clearly that she's happy on her own for the moment, and if anything changes, she'll let us know. Oh, there's a footnote," Anthony said, looking down the page and laughing. "Heh. Actual content of letter as received: 'I don't think it's any of your business. If I ever decide to cater to the Muggle muleforce, you'll know.'

"Luna's next." Anthony flipped the page. "Yours truly is doing quite well. I have already gathered the funding to travel to Antarctica in search of the crumple-horned snorkack, which I will feature in an upcoming edition of the Quibbler. I'm also writing a book, which will be printed upside-down. I'm not sure what the title or subject matter is yet, but you, my loyal readers, will be the first to know. After me, of course."

Michael shook his head. "Batty. Lemme read a little more. I'm bored over here."

"Also, I have a new camera man for the _Quibbler_: Mr. Colin Creevey. He has, in fact, agreed to accompany me on my trek to Antarctica." Michael chuckled to himself, shaking his head before he continued. "Looks like Lovegood's done well, doesn't it?" No one answered, since it was a rhetorical question. "Kingsley Shacklebolt, esteemed Auror, has accepted a position among the royal guard. It is rumoured that he may even be knighted for his efforts in the planning and carrying out of the final battle in the Ministry last May."

"He really did well, didn't he?" Anthony remarked with a grin.

"Looks like it. He deserved it, though, I think," Daphne said with a shrug, holding the paper straight again for Michael to continue reading.

"Remus J. Lupin--former professor at Hogwarts and noted werewolf--has also decided to retire in the aftermath of the final battle. When asked about his plans for retirement, he mentioned a town of werewolves. Due to the current inability to produce wolfsbane, he had opted to move to that town so as to be around people who might be able to understand him and to whom he will not be a danger to. He says that he will be certain to continue visiting Harry Potter whenever possible, and that if he is ever needed again, he will be ready."

"He really is a good man," Anthony said. Michael and Daphne couldn't disagree.

"Finally, we, dear readers, come to the rest of the Weasley family--all of whom have been instrumental in the end of Voldemort's reign of terror. Bill Weasley remains hospitalised; however, his wife, Fleur (former Champion in the Triwizard Tournament for Beauxbaton), had this to say in a rather wonky accent, 'The doctors say that Bill will fully recover, but it may take a long time. I am very proud of him, and I know that his brother, Charlie, who died last year around this time, is also very proud of him in the next life. I hope he knows this.' The last part is about Arthur and Molly Weasley," Michael said, taking a breath. He was going to need a drink after all this.

"Read it quickly," Anthony muttered. Michael glanced at his friend and followed his gaze to a very attractive girl and what looked to be her twin sister sitting on a bench just down the way from them, both enjoying large cones of vanilla ice cream. Michael shook his head, snorting softly, and waited for Daphne to turn to the final page of the article.

"Molly and Arthur Weasley both had a rather brief stay in the hospital due to some minor injuries that weren't all bad. Now that all of their children are grown - in fact, the only one still living at home for now is Ginny, but she will be moving out within the next couple years - they plan on adding a small addition to their house as a bit of a greenhouse for some more exotic magical plants that still grow across the world. They remain friends with Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, and have also offered their house as a retreat should any wizards feel lost thanks to the end of magic. Quotes Molly Weasley: We do like a full house, and why shouldn't we open out doors to those that need us?

"As always, this is your reporter, Luna Lovegood, signing off. If I may take a moment to be serious here, I'm personally glad that the color red exists. It's a nice color.

"Until next time." Michael finished, and Daphne folded up the paper, setting it on the bench beside her and noting that Anthony was already gone. Apparently it got too boring for him. It was about that time that a letter fell onto Michael's leg. Both of them looked up to note that there was an owl perched in the tree above them. How long had it been there?

"Can you open it?" Michael asked. Daphne took it and flipped it over so that the address was showing. It was from the Weasley twins. Michael groaned, but Daphne just offered a bit of a smile, leaning against him.

"Michael Corner, the Park Bench-- Rather specific. Looks like it couldn't wait." Skipping the rest of the address, she opened the letter and read it to herself before exclaiming in laughter, "You have to see this."

She held the letter out, and Michael read it aloud. "It appears that we've been a bit hasty in charging you so much for the damage done to the shop. First of all, as magic really doesn't exist anymore, we've decided we really shouldn't charge you that much. Second... We're not really intimidated you realize, but there's a witch named Emma who also happens to be a werewolf that calmly reminded us that she might be willing to eat our livers during the next full moon if we didn't reconsider. Don't worry, she was awfully nice about it. I suppose the conclusion is that if you can send us fourty-nine Galleons, we'll call it even. Sincerely, Fred and George Weasley."

"You know, it seems like they aren't closing the shop, even if there isn't any magic," Michael mused.

"Well, I _suppose_ pranks could be considered something important outside of magic or electricity, aye?" Daphne replied, tucking the note into the front pocket of his shirt.

"Well, it's good to see everyone's doing pretty well after all that," Michael continued, putting his free arm around Daphne's shoulders. They watched in silence for a moment as Anthony perched himself between the two girls. One was giggling and even offered him a bite of her ice cream.

"You know, when his reputation isn't preceding him, he makes out fairly well, doesn't he?" Daphne remarked with a smirk.

"So it seems," Michael replied, watching in amusement as the girl's sister then offered Anthony her own ice cream. He stretched one leg out, knocking his satchel over, which suddenly reminded him of something. "Hey, Daph, can you get me my bag and open it for me?"

"Sure," she said, bending over to pick it up and undo the latches. She pulled back the cover and set it in his lap. "Do you need me to get something out for you?"

"No," he said, shaking his head and pulling his arm back from her shoulders and the other hand from his pocket. Working very carefully with both hands--more so using his palms as a clamp--he pulled a cylindrical green cloth covered object out of the bag. "You haven't given me a real answer yet, you see, and I _do_ remember what you told that nurse when I woke up."

Though she offered a curious glance to what Michael was holding, she looked away. On her face was that nervous smile he'd always liked because she didn't do it very often. She looked warmer that way somehow.

"I... Well I wanted to stay, you know. I hope I didn't offend you."

"They kicked you out anyway," Michael observed with a grin. "No, you didn't offend me. You didn't answer me when I asked about it later, either."

"Yeah, about that..." she said, looking back at the thing he was holding. He knew she'd figured out what it was by then, even though she wasn't commenting on it. He could read her, and that wasn't an easy thing to do... She wasn't uncomfortable, really. Curious, maybe, and a little embarrassed.

Michael handed her the umbrella. He knew exactly how to do this; but even though it was the most confident he'd been about anything in a long time, he couldn't help thinking that if he didn't do it _right,_ he'd scare her away. Daphne was subtle. She never did like a big show, so felt like he had to be careful. After she took it, he explained. "Cho told me what you did when you thought I'd died. I had her get me that. Told her to make sure it was green. I don't really... Have anything right now, you know. I couldn't... Well, I thought you'd like that more than... More than something else anyway."

Her eyes were pretty wide by then, that funny little half-embarrassed smile still on her face. Good, good, she was catching on. He smiled, turning enough so that he could take her hand. He wished he could hold it properly, but that, too, would come one day. "I'll get you that something else if you want it one day, I just..."

She rolled her eyes. Yes, yes, she was impatient, too. Michael laughed, trying to control the thumping in his chest where his heart - he would never take _that_ for granted again - was beating rather rapidly. It was obvious that she wouldn't say no, but the question itself was actually pretty difficult to get out. She was torturing him, though. She wanted to hear it. Finally, "Daphne, will you marry me?"

The knuckles were white on her hand around the umbrella. She pulled her other hand free of his, ducking her head so that her hair started to cover her face, but he knew she was wiping at it. However, when she spoke, she didn't sound too upset. "Since I already made myself your fiancee, I don't see why not," she said. Her voice broke on the last few words, and he started to worry, reaching out to try and draw her hand from her face with his broken fingers. She took his hand, lacing her damp fingers through his own, and shook her head. "I'm fine. I'm fine. Just give me a minute, aye?"

Michael nodded, leaning back again and putting his other hand back around her shoulders. He could feel her tensing and relaxing as she tried to quell the tears, and he knew he'd probably never really understand why she'd started crying. He was certain it was not just a girl thing, but he figured she'd tell him if she wanted him to know.

He heard her undo the velcro holding the umbrella shut, and with a flick of her wrist, she had it extended. She held the hand between her knees as she forced the spikes open, the green fabric going taut. And then, in the middle of the park on that sunny July day, she held it over them. Michael chuckled and attempted to squeeze her hand and shoulder simultaneously. His fingers managed to flinch just slightly, so that she did know what he was trying. She squeezed back and settled against his arm, leaning the umbrella in the crook of her arm so that it would shadow both of them.

And it was answer enough for him.

"I don't think it will be so bad."

"Oh?"

"Not really. If you think about it, there have been Muggleborn wizards for hundreds of years, so maybe magic isn't over completely."

"That would be nice."

"Even if there isn't... Well, at least I have you, aye?"

"Even if I am brain damaged?"

"Not like you weren't before - what with all those bludgers hitting you."

Michael laughed. "Cheers, Daph."

"For what?"

He shook his head and stared up into the sun beaming through the tight green fabric over their heads, and he smiled.


End file.
